Snapshots
by Aggie2011
Summary: Various 1000 word-ish ficlets about Clint Barton based on submitted prompts. Ongoing. *Vantage Point Universe*
1. No 1 - Clint Poisoned

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Now I know a lot of you are waiting patiently (or impatiently which is okay too lol) for The Untold Stories. It is finally in the revision process and then it's off to be beta'd by my good friends_ **Kylen** _and_ **JRBarton** _. So you've still got some waiting to do but the hard/long part is over._

 _Which brings us to where we are now. Over on my tumblr (username_ **aggie2011whoop** _if you're interested) I've had many, many prompts/wishes/hopes for the VPU submitted over the last few months on what I call #wewantwednesday. Well, I decided to take those, one at a time, and do a 1000 word (+/-) ficlet based on them. This is the first! Some of these can be considered VPU canon, but some of them can't. Best just to view them as individual ficlets within the umbrella of the VPU. Enjoy!_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clint is poisoned and the more active he is the faster it spreads, therefore he cannot be involved in tracking down the antidote. _

_Submitted by:_ **arlothia**

* * *

Tony looked up from his computer screen to track Clint's progress across the lab. 10 steps, stop, absently fidget with a piece of Tony's equipment, turn, 10 steps, pivot, 10 steps in a different direction, stop, disassemble and then reassemble a test-firing gun, toss it down in frustration, turn, 10 more steps…and the cycle continued.

Tony tried to focus back on the screen, on the simulations he was running as he tried to synthesize an antidote, but then a piece of equipment tumbled over on one of his tables and he sighed.

He looked up in time to catch Clint's sheepish glance in his direction as he righted the piece of equipment and slowly withdrew his hands, as if worried it might fall again.

"You're supposed to be taking it easy," Tony pointed out as Clint made tracks back across the lab and to the test-firing guns. "I'm serious, Clint. Bruce said that the more active y-"

"I know what Bruce said," Clint snapped sharply. He watched as Clint quickly and easily disassembled a gun. "Believe me, this _is_ me taking it easy."

Tony watched him start to efficiently start to reassemble the gun with habitual ease. He slammed the clip home a little more forcefully than Tony thought was necessary.

"I should be out there," Clint muttered darkly. "This is my fight." Then started taking the weapon back apart.

Tony sighed, checked the progress of the simulation on his screen, then stood.

"It's all our fight – part of that whole 'team' thing," he corrected as he slowly made his way towards his friend. "Natasha, Steve, and Bruce, they'll find the guy. They'll get the antidote and you'll be fine."

Clint scoffed, barely paused after disassembling the gun before he started putting it back together.

"If you're so goddamned confident, why have you been running those damn antidote simulations for the past three hours?"

"Because it's what I can do…and it's our only back up plan."

"What you can do?" Clint laughed sarcastically. "Tony, your goddamned Iron Man. You should be out there with them not babysitting me. I can take care of myself," he practically growled.

Tony opened his mouth to respond but the words halted in his throat when Clint's hands suddenly fumbled and the slide of the gun went tumbling to the floor.

For a moment they both stood frozen in shock. Tony had seen Clint break down and reassemble guns of all shapes and sizes hundreds of times. Never once, _never once_ , had his hands been anything but sure and steady.

But now, even as Tony stared, Clint's hands trembled.

"Clint?" Tony called, snapping into motion and covering the remaining distance between them in three long strides.

"I'm fine," came Clint's predictable reply. But his voice wasn't as firm as it had been moments ago and he was staring down at his hands with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"You're not fine," Tony snapped, his temper flaring. He was tired of Clint always shrugging of injuries like they were nothing, like they didn't matter. It was high time he made it clear that it _mattered_. "You've been poisoned, you asshole." He hooked his foot around the nearest rolling chair and jerked it over. "Now sit the hell down and don't get up again until I'm jamming the antidote into your arm, got it?"

Clint didn't move and Tony briefly considered manhandling him into the chair himself, but quickly shoved away that idea. Even dosed with a poison, Clint would not take kindly to that.

"Clint, come on, you really want to collapse right here in the middle of the lab? Romanoff would kill me if I let that happen. Just sit down, all right? I'll even let you keep playing with the guns."

Clint slowly, as if he were moving through water, reached for the chair and sat. Tony thought that was it. Clint seemed to be complying and would no longer wear a hole in the lab floor with his restless pacing. So he turned to head back to his work station, but Clint's voice stopped him.

"Why are you here, Tony? You and I both know that you'd be more use out there, hunting this bastard down. Why are you here?"

He sounded off – so far from the normally strong and unshakeable archer Tony had come to know. Tony swallowed and leaned against the table next to Clint's chair, eyeing the paleness of his friend's pallor. Had he been that pale an hour ago? Tony didn't think so. Had his eyes been that bloodshot? His posture that weary?

It was worse than Clint was letting on, the poison had progressed farther than Clint had admitted.

That realization had Tony's gut tightening and put a slight shake in his voice when he responded.

"Somebody needed to stay with you, to make sure you didn't go start running laps or something and accelerate the poison." He tried to keep it light, even tossed in a teasing smirk.

But Clint didn't even crack a grin – a further testament that something was very wrong with him.

"Bruce could have stayed," the archer pointed out. "Hell, between the two of you, _he's_ the doctor."

Clint wasn't looking at him, was staring at the guns on the table. But he hadn't moved to work with them again. He was keeping his hands clenched on his thighs, but even so Tony could see the shaking.

Tony considered his reply for a long moment. Bruce _was_ the doctor. He'd be able to more effectively monitor Clint's health as time went by. But Tony was pretty sure the last thing Clint wanted was someone taking his blood pressure every 30 minutes. What the archer really needed, though he'd never admit it, was to just know he wasn't alone. Bruce could have provided that assurance, sure, but Tony wasn't willing to pass that buck, not when it came to Clint.

"Because it couldn't be her," Tony finally confessed. "She had to be out there, hunting this guy. She couldn't just stay her and do nothing, not when she was our best bet to find him. So if it couldn't be her, here with you, it had to be me."

It had to be. Because Clint was his best friend. And as much as Tony wanted his pound of flesh from the guy who had done this, he wanted – _needed_ – to be here more.

Clint looked at him then, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a slight, but warm, grin.

Then without warning, his eyes rolled back and he slid listlessly out of the chair, hitting the floor in a bone jarring heap.

* * *

 _if you guys are anything like my tumblr crowd, you'll be brandishing pitchforks and torches after leaving it there. But that's where this ficlet ends - it was just over 1000 words and that's that. :D_

 _Hope you enjoyed! Drop me a line to let me know what you thought! If you want to see these as they are created, they go up on my tumblr first so follow me there._

 _thanks for reading!_


	2. No 1 (part 2)- Clint Poisoned

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _So after I published ficlet No. 1 of this 1000 word ficlet series, I got pretty much unanimous demand for a continuation. So here it is. Enjoy the wrap of of Clint getting poisoned lol._

 _This one and No. 1 aren't really part of the VPU official timeline, but the characters ARE as they appear in the VPU. If that makes sense._

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Original Prompt:** Clint is poisoned and the more active he is the faster it spreads, therefore he cannot be involved in tracking down the antidote._

 _Submitted by:_ **arlothia**

* * *

Pepper paused outside the glass door that separated her from Tony, hesitating for a moment before entering. He was sitting in his chair, a holographic breakdown of the poison hovering to his left and a holographic breakdown at his attempt at an antidote on his right. Tirelessly he adjusted this or that on the antidote and merged the two. The computer beeped its rejection of the combination and the two compounds reformed separately once again.

She drew in a breath and quietly entered the lab. He looked to her immediately, eyes fearful.

"No change," she assured. "He's still hanging in there. Natasha's with him now."

The rest of the team had returned 20 minutes ago – just as Pepper finally arrived from her emergency flight back from London – to find Clint sleeping in his room. He'd been so scarily still that Bruce had rushed forward to take a pulse. JARVIS had then informed them that Clint had collapsed two hours ago and after moving him to the bed, Tony had returned to his desperate work on an antidote. He'd left JARVIS with strict instructions to monitor every facet of Clint's condition and keep Tony apprised.

Pepper came to stand at Tony's side as he continued to work. He was silent for a moment before speaking quietly, in a tone so devoid of hope that she felt her own eyes burn.

"They didn't find an antidote, then," he deduced.

Pepper could only shake her head, not trusting her voice to speak.

She watched Tony's jaw clench, his hands fist and loosen in frustration before he went back to his construction of the antidote.

"Tony…" she started gently, "The others are waiting for you. Bruce doesn't think he has long."

"I'm not stopping. I have to figure this out," he replied sharply. "I'm the only chance he has now." The waver in Tony's voice had her gripping his shoulders in comfort.

"Okay," she allowed, knowing he wouldn't be swayed. If Clint took another downward turn, she'd come back. She leaned forward and kissed his hair gently. "He's lucky to have you fighting for him," she whispered before turning to head for the door. She stopped when Tony's voice followed her.

"What if I can't do this?" he asked quietly, brokenly. "What if I can't figure it out in time?" He spun in his chair and faced her, dark eyes shining. "What if _I'm_ not enough to save him?"

Quick steps brought her to him and she enveloped him in a tight hug, pressing his head into her abdomen.

"What you're doing is enough, Tony," she assured. "Clint would _never_ blame you."

"I would blame me," he whispered softly. Pepper closed her eyes and hugged him tighter. Then she pulled away and leaned down to meet his eyes.

"You are Tony Stark. You are always the smartest man in the room. You are smarter than the son of a bitch that did this. Figure it out. I know you will. Clint knows you will. He trusts you to save him." She hardened her tone, trying to light a new fire in him. "So _save him_."

Just as she'd hoped, his posture straightened and something ignited in his eyes. He nodded once and she nodded back and then leaned in to kiss him.

"You'll let me know if there's any change?" he asked as she pulled away. She nodded and he nodded back, then spun away, attacking his project with a new intensity.

Pepper took a deep breath and headed back for the door.

Her job here was done.

* * *

Natasha laid next to Clint on their bed, playing with the fingers of his nearest hand, threading them with hers, then unthreading them. He was motionless next to her, the only movement found in the labored rise and fall of his chest. His eyes looked bruised and sunken. His brow furrowed as if he were in pain, but otherwise he was still.

Clint was never still.

She bit her lip and blinked against the wetness building in her eyes.

The team had left them alone. Gone to wait somewhere else for what was starting to feel more and more inevitable.

The sheer weight of her failure threatened to crush her as she heard Clint's already labored breaths hitch. When they'd finally caught up with the bastard that had done this, he'd already been dead. He'd killed himself rather than risk giving them what they needed from him. A thorough search of his apartment had yielded nothing but more of the same poison.

There had been nothing to do but come back and hope Tony could pull a rabbit out of his hat one more time.

Natasha shifted, curling onto her side and wrapping herself around Clint's body. She nestled her head into his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

"You can't do this to me," she whispered fiercely. "You hear me?" She lifted her head and stared at his pale face, willing him to wake up, to move, to _survive._ "You can't leave me. I won't let you." She tightened her hold on him to prove the point.

When he didn't respond, didn't even react to her voice, she felt her throat tighten and her eyes well again.

"I can't do this without you," she told him, ignoring the break in her voice. She reached up to gently brush her hand over the side of his face, sliding it down to frame his jaw. "You have to keep fighting, мой сокол. You have to fight harder than you ever have before. _Please_ , do it for me." _(my hawk)_

She ignored the tears that escaped her eyes and pressed her forehead into his jaw.

"Please come back to me," she whispered.

The door bursting open behind her had her twisting to sitting and reaching for a weapon.

Tony didn't even spare her a glance. Instead, he rushed around to the other side of the bed and tightened a rubber strip around Clint's bicep.

Natasha watched him with wide eyes as he produced a syringe from his pocket.

"You figured it out?" she asked desperately.

Tony finally looked up at her, his own dark eyes wide and red rimmed.

"I don't know. But I think…it might…" the indecision in his eyes, on his face, made her own heart hurt.

He didn't want to make it worse. He didn't want to fail.

She looked down at Clint, wondering what to do, what to tell Tony. But as she stared at her archer's face, she knew.

She met Tony's gaze again.

"He trusts you with his life, Tony," she said firmly and then added, "and so do I. Do it."

Tony nodded sharply and carefully inserted the syringe into the vein visible in the crook of Clint's elbow. He pushed in the plunger and then froze, hovering. Natasha drew in a breath and held it.

Nothing changed. She glanced at Tony.

"How lo-"

Clint's sudden cough and sharply drawn breath cut her off and then he was coughing again, eyes flashing open and looking around wildly.

"Clint!" she caught his face in her hands, reading the beginnings of panic in his gaze. "You're okay," she stated firmly, relief bleeding into her tone. "You're okay," she said again then looked at Tony with grateful eyes. "Tony saved you."

Clint's gaze swung over to his best friend and his hand rose off the bed, open and inviting towards Tony.

With a water smile, Tony caught it in his own and squeezed it fiercely.

"Welcome back, buddy."

* * *

 _There you go!_

 _Hope that ending leaves you guys happier lol Feel absolutely free to drop me a line and let me know how grateful you are for a happy ending haha_

 _deuces!_


	3. No 2 - Clint attacked in the hopsital

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Update on Untold Stories - revisions are done and it's in the beta process! The wait is almost over!_

 _Here is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I recieved through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clint attacked in the hospital _

_**Submitted by:** pipe-dreams-and-plaid-shirts_

* * *

Clint hid a wince as he shifted in his bed – his _hospital_ bed.

He'd done everything he could think of, tried every trick he knew, but no amount of cajoling, bribing or shameless begging was going to convince Phil to spring him from this place early. Natasha had been equally unwilling to help him mount an escape.

He didn't know what the fuss was about. So what if the knife he'd been sliced with – and _that_ was going to leave a wicked scar on his side – had been poisoned? It hadn't gotten him _that_ deeply. The techs back on base had already figured out how to counter it and relayed those instructions to the hospital that currently housed him. Aside from the dizzy spells, the nausea, the unrelenting radiation of pain from the wound itself that even painkillers he normally refused couldn't touch, and the exhaustion, he was _fine._

Clint sighed and relaxed back against his pillows. He'd briefly considered just busting out on his own, surprising Phil and Nat at the hotel room he'd demanded they go commandeer. As willing as they'd both be to sleep in the hard plastic hospital chairs in the waiting room – ICU had annoying rules about visiting hours – he hadn't seen the point. If they couldn't be in the room with him – and honestly even if they could, they both looked so exhausted he might have insisted anyway – then they might as well sleep comfortably.

They hadn't gone easily, but in the end cooler heads – namely _his_ – prevailed and they'd both left him with promises to smuggle in real food as soon as visiting hours started in the a.m..

Given the promise they'd each extracted from him not to do anything stupid if they left, he didn't think showing up on their hotel room doorstep would go over all that well. So he was fated to spend the night in this too white, too clean room on this too hard, too narrow bed with its too stiff, too rough sheets.

Clint forced himself to close his eyes and sighed again. When he'd complained about his accommodations to Phil, he'd gotten nothing but an eye roll and an accusation of being too dramatic. Natasha, when subjected to the same complaints, had disappeared, only to reappear 15 minutes later with a mattress pad and a pink fuzzy blanket that had a picture of a unicorn jumping over a rainbow on it.

He wasn't ashamed to admit he had wrapped it around himself immediately. Unicorn or not, it beat the hell out of the hospital issued sandpaper.

He opened his eyes to slits when he sensed someone come into the room, momentarily impressed that the nurse – Jackie, read her name tag – had managed not to make her shoes squeak on the floor like _every other_ nurse had.

She gave him a smile, displaying perfectly lined teeth and moved to check his IV.

"How's the pain?"

Horrible. A shade below unbearable.

"It's fine," he answered easily.

She nodded.

"Having trouble sleeping?" she asked cheerily.

Too cheerily for a chick that had been working all shift – the new crew wouldn't even show up at the hospital until closer to shift change, which was an hour away.

Clint found himself scowling at her in response to the out of place joviality.

"Where's Chris?" his nurse for the past several hours hadn't been nearly as sunny in disposition. Clint found himself preferring Chris's perpetual grim scowl and don't-give-me-lip attitude.

"She's taking a break and asked me to check on you."

Seemed plausible. If he believed Chris was the kind of person that needed a break. Or sleep. Or anything else normal human's needed.

He watched through narrowed eyes as Jackie flipped some switches and pressed some buttons on the monitors surrounding him. While the sudden quiet that came as a result was welcome, it had him arching an eyebrow warily, senses tingling.

He blinked and Jackie had produced a syringe from her pocket.

"This will help you sleep."

"I'll sleep fine on my own," he protested firmly.

But she just ignored him, bringing the syringe towards his IV port.

Instincts flared to life and adrenaline flooded his system. He struck out with his left hand, slamming his palm against her wrist and sending the syringe flying off towards the tangle of wires and equipment next to his bed.

She was on him before he knew what was happening, thighs with a grip like a vice straddled his waist and a hand locked around his throat.

He barely managed to gasp out a curse and draw in a breath before all air intake stopped. At least now he knew why she'd silenced the equipment. Unless a nurse at the desk actually checked his condition on their own, nobody would know that his heart rate was currently sky rocketing.

Normally in this type of situation the number 6 minutes and 26 seconds started rebounding around in his mind. But if the tightening of her grip – and the unexpected strength behind it – was anything to go by, she'd crush his larynx long before that number came into play.

He slammed the curve between his left thumb and forefinger up into her throat, forcing her to cough out any air she had before he tightened his own grip.

Then he bucked his hips and rolled.

She hit the tile floor hard, his body landing jarringly on top of hers. The IV ripped out of his hand sending a spray of blood across the previously pristine white tile.

Her grip on his throat dislodged at the impact, but his grip on hers _didn't._ A lifetime of firing a bow had perks beyond looking cool in a quiver – his hands had a grip like pure iron.

He watched her eyes widen in panic. Then her fist was slamming into the wound on his side.

Pain – compounded no doubt by the lingering effects of the poison – sliced through him, but he forced his grip to stay firm even as his vision went momentarily white.

Her eyes widened further, red starting to burst forth on the whites of her eyes. Her knees came up hard into his back, slamming him forward. Even on a good day, that would knock him off balance. Today – not being a particularly good day – a dizzy spell hit and he went tumbling.

She was on him like a feral cat – all hisses and claws. Only it wasn't claws – it was a knife. The arm he got up in defense was laid open from wrist to elbow.

More blood ruined the polish job on the floor.

He caught her wrist with the next attack and twisted hard and sharp. Her bones snapped, the knife dropped, and she gasped. Clint yanked her forward by her still captive wrist and drove his knee up into her abdomen. When she doubled, he fisted a hand in her hair and turned, slamming her face-first into the wall. The plaster cracked and she dropped like a rock.

He turned to the door and saw Chris standing there wearing a disapproving glare and a firm scowl.

He managed an unapologetic shrug before the world tilted around him. He reached for the edge of the bed to steady himself and gave his nurse a smirk as he gestured towards the fresh blood on the floor.

"Figured the room could use some color."

To his surprise, she smirked back as she shouted for security and then came to his side, gently helping him back into the bed.

"How did I know you were gonna be trouble?" she asked with a bemused shake of her head.

Clint grinned and shrugged again.

"It's a gift."

* * *

 _There you go! Only a vague cliffhanger on that one, but I'm sure you can assume his survival :D He's already in a hospital after all._

 _Another ficlet will come this time next week!_

 _Until then, drop me a line! :D_


	4. No 3 - Clint and Steve Bonding

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Here is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I recieved through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** __Steve and Clint trapped in a collapsed building; Steve and Clint bonding and seeing Phil/Bucky in each other; Steve and Clint big brother/little brother situation_

 _ **Submitted by:** kingcastles, romnovaa, and spirit-alpha_

* * *

Clint wiped sweat from his forehead as he shot a glance out the window, looking down to the dark street.

"See anything?" Steve asked from where he was carefully wrapping gauze around Clint's right bicep.

"No, nothing yet," he answered. It was a blessing and a curse. None of their pursuers had apparently found them yet, but neither had the rest of the team.

When he'd taken a bullet through the meat of his arm while laying down cover fire for Nat to help Bruce to the Humvee, Steve had been the one to wrap an arm around Clint's waist and yank him back behind a half collapsed retaining wall.

More enemy reinforcements had arrived and he and Steve had been cut off from the rest of the team. When Tony had risen up to just blast the bad guys to kingdom come, he'd been met with a barrage of grenades. He'd only barely managed to shield Nat and the disoriented Bruce.

Steve had motioned them to run.

" _We'll meet you at the RV!"_ he'd shouted.

Though reluctant, the team had done as ordered. Steve and Clint had only barely managed to escape the kill box they found themselves trapped in. They'd been running ever since, finally hunkering down in an abandoned two story house to take a breath.

Well, so _Clint_ could take a breath. He was pretty sure Steve would have been able to keep going like the energizer bunny if it weren't for Clint slowing him down.

"Stop thinking like that," Steve snapped.

Clint arched an eyebrow at him in question. Steve tied off the bandage and gave him a teasing grin.

"I know that look. Us being here is _not_ your fault."

"And the comms getting blown?" Clint challenged. "Is _that_ my fault?"

Steve held his gaze steadily.

"No," he stated firmly.

Clint rolled his eyes and moved closer to the window, using the wall as a shield as he peered first one direction and then the other. Steve was too forgiving.

"You're acting like you should have been able to see that EMP grenade coming," Steve accused.

Clint turned to glare at him.

" _You_ did. Hell, Cap, if you'd have been in my shoes, you'd have tossed it back."

Now Steve rolled his eyes.

"Me and you, Clint, apples and oranges."

He'd meant it as a comfort, but Clint heard it as just another reason he was a liability this time around.

"Don't I know it," he muttered.

Steve looked stricken when he realized how it had sounded.

"Clint, I didn't-"

Clint held up a hand, gaze zeroing in on something down the block. Apology forgotten for the moment, Steve was suddenly at his shoulder.

"Where?"

Clint jerked his chin.

"There, third house down, second window."

Steve's eyes narrowed and he tensed when he saw the same thing Clint had seen. The mouth of a grenade launcher.

"We need to move," Clint hissed.

"It's dark. They can't know exactly where we are," Steve argued. "Moving could give away our position."

Clint clenched his jaw. Steve was right.

He glanced at his friend.

"Call it, Cap."

Steve deliberated for a moment, eyes fixed on the grenade launcher.

They both jumped when a sudden series of flash grenades lit up the street.

"Back," Steve's hand latched onto Clint's arm and spun him away from the window, even as _he_ continued to watch the street. It was a protective gesture that Clint was still getting used to enduring from his stronger teammate.

It was too late though. Shouts from the street indicated they'd been seen.

Clint saw Steve's eyes widen and then the captain was lunging away from the window.

"DOWN!" he shouted, bodily tackling Clint to the ground and covering him with his own body.

The first explosion left Clint momentarily deaf, nothing filtering into his brain but an incessant ringing. He felt Steve shift on top of him, and then the second explosion rocked the floor beneath them.

Clint knew it was going to give a moment before he felt it collapse beneath him.

A flying piece of wood slammed into his temple and he lost consciousness.

* * *

Steve felt the floor give way and tightened his grip on Clint. He saw the archer's head jerk when a piece of wooden shrapnel flew into him. Then Clint went limp.

Frantic, and knowing that if Clint landed first, Steve's greater weight could do more harm than good, he twisted as they fell. His back slammed into the first floor living room tile with a crack and Clint landed on his chest like a bag of bricks.

Steve coughed as the air rushed out of his lungs, but forced his eyes open to assess the situation.

The second floor was collapsing, and with it the roof.

He didn't even think. He tucked Clint closer to his body and rolled, using his body to create a shield over the younger and smaller man. With Clint curled on his side beneath him, Steve braced himself on his hands and knees and drew in a deep breath.

The weight of the house collapsing on him threatened to send him sprawling, but he held firm, every muscle straining to keep his own body and the weight it bore from crushing his friend.

He dropped his head down to rest on Clint's temple as he panted, praying he was strong enough, that the falling debris would shift enough to give him a respite. The weight bore down harder, forcing his elbows to bow and pressing his chest against Clint's shoulder.

Then the weight stopped compounding and the world around them quieted. Steve blew out harsh breaths as he lifted his head to look around. He caught sight of a beam just to their right, angled sharply and holding up a portion of the fallen house. The space created would be their salvation…if they could get to it.

Steve's arms shook and his back ached as he looked down again, examining Clint's lax features with his eyes.

He couldn't move them alone. He was holding up the house on his back. If he made one wrong move they'd be buried. He would probably survive, but Clint wouldn't. Steve couldn't risk that.

"Clint," Steve called roughly, coughing around the dust filling the air.

His friend didn't move. Steve bit his lip, groaning as something sharp dug into his ribs.

"Come on, buddy," he whispered around panting breaths. "I need you."

* * *

 _To be continued…_

 _Tune in next week for the continuation! This little ficlet storyline has 3 parts total :D_

 _Drop me a line if you feel like it! It'd make me very happy!_


	5. No 3 (part 2) - Clint and Steve Bonding

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Here is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I recieved through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _This is part 2 of a 3 part ficlet mini-series following the same prompt. Part 3 coming next week!_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** __Steve and Clint trapped in a collapsed building; Steve and Clint bonding and seeing Phil/Bucky in each other; Steve and Clint big brother/little brother situation_

 _ **Submitted by:** kingcastles, romnovaa, and spirit-alpha_

* * *

Clint came back to consciousness slowly. If the pain in his head and the stickiness of blood he could feel on his temple hadn't given away his concussion, _that_ would have.

"Clint, you gotta hear me…"

A voice filtered in, a familiar one. It took him an extra beat to place it.

"I need you to wake up…"

 _Steve_.

Steve needed him. Adrenaline flooded his system, pushing away the foggy grogginess. He forced his eyes open, looking for his friend even as he tried to remember where they were and what had happened.

He remembered an explosion. Steve had tackled him like a linebacker.

"Cap…" he called out, only to cough around the thick dust hovering in the air around him. Coughing made his head throb harder and ignited a pain in his side that he hadn't felt before then.

"Easy," Steve's voice was right by his ear.

While he forced his breathing back under control, Clint did his best to take stock of himself and his surroundings. He was on his side, temple on the tile and body curled. There was a weight on his upper arm, pressing him down, but it wasn't unbearable, more like a constant pressure.

A moment later he realized that weight was Steve. He angled his head, trying to see his friend. Steve was braced on all fours on top of him, covered in sweat and dirt and looking strained but relieved. But it was Clint saw _beyond_ Steve that caught his attention.

"Are you holding the house on your back?" he asked, deadly serious.

Steve huffed a slight laugh even as his arms quaked and the weight on Clint's arm grew heavier.

"Part of it," Steve admitted. "There's a hollow at your 12. Do you think you can get to it?"

Clint craned his neck immediately, looking where Steve had directed.

He could get there, easily. But _he_ wasn't the one he was worried about.

" _I_ can. Can _you_?" Clint asked doubtfully.

"I'll make it," Steve promised without missing a beat.

Clint didn't have much choice but to take him at his word.

"Sooner the better," Steve added with a grunt.

Feeling the urgency of the situation, Clint nodded and started to shift.

It wasn't easy, he was wedged between Steve and the floor. The pain in his side intensified, but it was the sudden, fiery pain in his _leg_ that startled him to a stop.

"What is it?" Steve asked knowingly even though Clint hadn't made a sound.

God, he was so much like Phil sometimes. Steve, more than anybody but Natasha, could just _read_ him. He didn't have to say a word, and Steve just _knew_. Phil had always just known.

"Clint!" Steve snapped in concern when he didn't reply fast enough. Worry. Another similarity to Phil.

"I'm fine," he insisted, the thick dust causing another round of deep coughs that made his lungs ache. "I can make it. But you need to give me some room."

Steve nodded, understanding immediately.

"On three," Steve stated before taking a deep breath. "One, two," Steve straightened his arms and arched his back with a groan.

Clint dug his elbow into the tile beneath him and pulled. His leg pulsed in white hot pain, but he ignored it and continued to claw his way free, toward the hollow that would be their salvation. Out of nowhere, his injured leg caught on something.

He couldn't hold back a sharp bark of pain at the unexpected resistance and he dropped his forehead to the rubble as he battled the pain back.

"Clint?!" Steve's voice was strained and a glance back showed him to be shaking. He was holding a house on his back and Clint was complaining about an achy leg.

Without bothering to reply to the worried call, Clint dug his elbows into the rubble and _pulled._ He felt the skin of his right calf getting torn up, and what he was reasonably certain was broken bones ground together painfully as he strained to get himself free.

Finally, _finally_ , his leg, then his boot came free from whatever had been trapping them. From there he made quick work to the hollow and collapsed onto his back, breathing hard, which only made him cough _again._

He heard Steve moving and didn't even take time to check the damage to his leg before forcing himself to move and make room. Just in time too, because Steve came diving into the hollow, the house he'd been holding up collapsing behind him.

For a long moment, they just laid there, shoulder to shoulder, eyes closed on their backs as they breathed.

* * *

Steve coughed around the dust and pressed a hand into the deep gash on his side, left by a piece of rebar that had very nearly impaled him. As if sensing the injury, Clint spoke suddenly.

"You okay?"

That was just like Clint. The guy had literally yanked his leg out from between two pieces of concrete that were trapping it, and he was asking about _Steve_. When he didn't answer right away, Clint didn't bother asking again. He just pushed himself up onto his elbow and visually assessed him.

"You're bleeding," Clint stated. It sounded like an accusation. Like Steve was doing something _wrong_ by bleeding.

"I'm trying not to," he replied with a huffing laugh. "Besides, I'm not the only one bleeding and between the two of us, _I'll_ heal a heck of a lot faster."

The way Clint glared at him right then, not for drawing attention to Clint's injury, but for dismissing his own…for a second it was like looking at Bucky. It was the same glare Bucky gave him every time Steve had taken a licking and brushed it off.

"What about your leg?" Steve tried to redirect.

"It's broken," Clint replied bluntly and without any real inflection. It was clinical and detached. It was how Clint _always_ talked about his injuries.

"It's also bleeding," Steve pointed out.

Clint gave the offending limb a glance and shrugged.

"I may not have your super healing, but _I_ happen to have good old regular human genetics that tend to get the job done."

Steve listened as the house settled around them. He just hoped he could keep his friend alive long enough for those 'regular human genetics' to have a chance to do their job.

* * *

 _To be continued…_

 _Hope you enjoyed! The conclusion to this mini-series comes next week then its back to individual prompts :D_

 _Drop me a line if you would!_


	6. No 3 (part 3) - Clint and Steve Bonding

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Untold Stories is still in the beta process, but I promise, the wait won't be too much longer! :D_

 _Here is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I recieved through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _This is the final part of a ficlet mini-series following the same prompt._

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** __Steve and Clint trapped in a collapsed building; Steve and Clint bonding and seeing Phil/Bucky in each other; Steve and Clint big brother/little brother situation_

 _ **Submitted by:** kingcastles, romnovaa, and spirit-alpha_

* * *

Steve looked around their temporary haven so that he wouldn't to watch Clint prod at his wounded leg.

A clear shaft of space between them and what _looked_ like the open sky was visible just behind them. He moved to get a better look.

"Do you see that?" he asked suddenly, pointing.

Clint shifted to look.

"Yeah. Looks clear," the archer agreed.

Steve stared at the opening and then looked at Clint. The assassin was small enough.

"You can fit through that shaft," he stated suddenly.

Clint blinked at him.

"So? Even if I could we don't know that it's stable. Even if I make it out, I could send the whole structure down on top of you."

"But you could also get the team and get help."

"With what?" Clint shot back. "A smoke signal? And did you forget the armed mercs out there that want to kill us?"

Steve shook his head stubbornly.

"You saying you can't stealth your way by them? You know you could."

He had to go. He didn't want Clint in this structure a moment longer than necessary. If it collapsed, Clint would die. Steve couldn't let that happen. Even if his plan sounded irrational.

"It doesn't matter because I'm not going," Clint's tone hardened.

"You have to go! You could die in here, Clint!"

"So could you!"

"I was buried in ice for 70 years and still survived, I think I can survive _this_. You can't."

"You don't know that," Clint argued sharply. "The house seems stable for now."

"Until they bomb us again."

"So now you're surviving bombs?" Clint accused sarcastically.

Steve wanted to pull out his hair in frustration. Why, _why_ , couldn't Clint have a normal self-preservation instinct?

"You have to go! That's an order!"

"Not without you!" Clint fired back and Steve blinked, mind flashing backwards to someone else yelling the exact same words at him. "I'm not leaving you here to die alone, you stubborn son of a bitch," Clint went on, pulling Steve back to the present. "The team will have noticed the giant explosion. They'll find us. So you can just shut the hell up about me _leaving_ you."

Steve stared at him and the shook his head.

" _I'm_ the stubborn son of a bitch?" he accused sarcastically.

Clint tossed him a mocking glare.

"Language, Cap. Only the cool kids get to use the fun words."

Steve couldn't help but chuckle, but then he sobered. After a long quiet moment, he spoke again.

"I don't want you to die here, Clint."

"Well I'm not planning on dying."

"Nobody ever is."

He watched a physical weight seem to suddenly fall on Clint's shoulders and Steve felt a pang of sorrow for bringing up memories that, for the archer, would always be too fresh.

"Don't I know it," his friend whispered quietly and without looking at him.

Not for the first time since he'd met Clint Barton, Steve wanted to wrap the younger – by actual years at least – man in a hug and physically protect him from the world. He didn't know the full story of what Clint had gone through in his life, maybe never would, but he knew enough. And he could guess at a lot more just by the look the other man got in his eyes sometimes and by the glimpse he'd gotten of the scars he bore on his back. It was painfully obvious, that when it had mattered the most, nobody had protected Clint.

Steve was determined to make sure that was never the case again.

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "I didn't mean to bring him up."

Clint shook his head, brushing off his apology, but at the same time not meeting his gaze.

"I'm not made of glass, Steve," he said firmly. "I'm not gonna shatter at the mention of his name."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like hell anyway," Steve replied knowingly.

Clint sighed, shoulders drooping a little.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

Steve shifted, wincing when the wound on his side pulled, the bleeding intensifying slightly. Clint's gaze was suddenly zeroed in on the injury, eyes concerned.

"You're bleeding pretty heavily," the archer observed.

"Your leg's not much better," Steve replied easily, eyeing the raggedly torn skin of Clint's shin. He didn't see bone though, so that was something at least.

Clint shrugged a shoulder and then seemed to suddenly sway.

"Clint?" Steve called in concern.

He watched the archer frown and then sway again, barely catching himself on an outstretched hand.

"Lay down," Steve snapped, forcing himself to his knees. A firm hand on Clint's shoulder ensured his order was obeyed. It only took a glance for him to see the problem.

Clint's side was bleeding as heavily as Steve's. It looked like a piece of rebar – maybe the same one that had gotten Steve – had taken a deep chunk out of the back of his right side.

"Damn it, Clint!" Steve hissed. "Why didn't you say something?"

"You're not cool enough for the fun words, Steve," Clint replied with a lethargy in his tone that set off warning bells in Steve's mind.

"I'm getting you out of here, _now_ ," Steve decided. He pressed his hand firmly against Clint's side even as he looked around, his own injury forgotten. Their only chance was the shaft. It wasn't big enough for Steve…not to climb out of at least. But maybe…an idea struck him.

"HEY!" he called as loudly as he could. "Hey! Is anybody there?!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Clint hissed, forcing himself up onto his elbow. Steve pushed him back down and listened.

Almost immediately, he heard a shout of response and then a face appeared in the shaft. It was one of the mercenaries they'd been battling. He was holding a grenade.

"You can drop that…or you can make a LOT of money," Steve offered hastily. "My blood, it's worth billions." It wasn't true, they'd already discovered that the key to the serum wouldn't be found in his blood. But these guys didn't know that. "You pull us out, and you can sell me to the highest bidder."

Steve ignored Clint's glare as they waited for a response. Then, to Steve's relief, a rope dropped down the shaft. Steve grabbed it.

A hand latched onto his arm.

"Steve, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

Steve finally met Clint's fierce gaze.

"I'm doing the exact same thing you'd do if our situations were reversed. I'm protecting you."

"I don't _need_ protecting," Clint growled even as Steve shook off his hand and tugged the rope. Immediately the men on the other end started to pull him up. Steve looked back down at Clint.

"Sorry, Clint, I always protect my family."

* * *

Clint waited at the bottom of the shaft as Steve disappeared up it, his broad frame _barely_ squeezing out. _Immediately_ , he heard a fight ensue. Steve was taking them all on by himself, to protect Clint.

"Like hell," Clint muttered as he forced himself up and reached for the edges of the shaft. Climbing with a broken leg wasn't easy. Climbing with waning strength due to blood loss, was even harder. But he kept going, clawing for every inch.

The sounds of gunfire had him pushing himself harder. Then, finally, he made it to the top. He eased his way out of the shaft and looked around.

Steve was surrounded, fighting ferociously, with at least two freshly bleeding bullet wounds in his abdomen and shoulder. Clint searched his immediate area and saw a dead merc with a gun on his belt.

Clint practically dove for it.

He grabbed the gun, brought it up and aimed. Four shots later, the gun clicked empty, but the number of men Steve was facing had gone from 5 to 1. Steve laid him out with a bone crunching left hook and then ran to Clint.

"What are you doing?" Steve snapped. "Did you climb out with a broken leg? Are you crazy?"

Clint huffed sarcastically.

"Isn't that what you _wanted_ me to do like 5 minutes ago?" he shot back.

"That was different."

Clint rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, okay." He sarcastically agreed.

"Seriously, Clint," Steve sighed and helped his stand, offering support so Clint didn't have to put any weight on his leg, "what were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed."

Clint groaned as they started their limping trek towards the rendezvous point. He hoped like hell they ran into Tony before then and he could hitch a ride.

"I was _thinking_ ," he replied firmly, "that _I_ always protect _my_ family too."

Clint felt Steve pause next to him, before continuing on without replying.

But after that it was impossible to miss the warm, broad smile on the Captain's face.

* * *

 _end of the ficlet mini-series about Clint and Steve_

 _A new ficlet based on a new prompt is coming next week! So stay tuned!_

 _Drop me a line if you please ;)_


	7. No 4 - Nat teaches Pepper self-defense

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Untold Stories is still in the beta process, but I promise, the wait won't be too much longer! :D_

 _Sorry this is later than normal, it's been a hectic day!_

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Natasha teaches Pepper self defense_

 _ **Submitted by:** swarz17_

* * *

Natasha carefully flipped the omelet she was making for Clint. He had a nasty head cold that he was fervently denying. And while he refused to stay in bed _all_ day, he'd agreed to at least rest until she brought him breakfast. She frowned when cheese leaked out onto the frying pan and pushed it back inside the omelet with her spatula.

Approaching footsteps had her looking up from the stove in time to see Pepper stride into the kitchen looking determined. Her friend stopped next to her, propped her hands on her hips and took a preparatory breath.

Natasha just arched her eyebrow and waited.

"Will you teach me self-defense?" Pepper asked bluntly, eyes hopeful even if her expression remained determined.

Natasha stared at her for a moment, before shrugging a shoulder.

"Sure."

Pepper's posture perked up immediately, her expression softening to a mixture of relief and excitement.

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course. I know better than anyone how important it is for a woman to be able to defend herself," Natasha replied with a faint wry smile.

Pepper's face softened further, a wave of empathy washing through her gaze for the past Natasha had never told her about.

"When can we start?" Pepper asked, eyeing the omelet curiously.

"Somebody picking on you in the school yard or something?" Natasha asked with a chuckle, then immediately winced. "Sorry, sometimes Clint's words come out of my mouth without my permission."

But the apology wasn't needed apparently because Pepper just laughed.

"Natasha, I live with Tony Stark. If I got offended every time a teasing and or sarcastic comment came my way, I'd never have lasted this long. Where is he, by the way? Clint, I mean?" Pepper asked as she glanced around the kitchen as if she expected Clint to be hiding under the table or on top of the refrigerator.

"He's still in bed. I'll tell you what," Natasha scooped the omelet onto a plate and turned off the stove, "let me take this to him and I'll meet you in the gym in 10 minutes."

Pepper nodded and smiled.

"Thank you," she offered sincerely.

Natasha smiled in return and headed for the door.

An elevator ride later, she was stepping out onto her and Clint's floor and making her way to their room. She almost called out as she entered the bedroom, but when she didn't hear any movement she cut herself off. A look at the bed showed Clint wrapped in the blankets, head buried in the pillows, breathing even.

She couldn't help her soft smile as she tiptoed closer and leaned to press a soft kiss into his hair. He stirred, but quieted with a few soft words. She left the room as quietly as she'd come and tossed the omelet in the trash. Eggs didn't reheat well and with any luck he'd just sleep until she got back anyway.

It took her less than 2 minutes to change into workout clothes and she was knotting her hair into a messy bun as she headed back for the elevator.

* * *

Pepper pushed her way into the gym and immediately headed for where she saw Natasha stretching. The red head smiled in greeting and motioned her onto the sparring mat.

"First thing's first…before a workout, even one like this, stretch. So just do what I do, okay?"

Pepper nodded and for the next several minutes they did several dynamic stretches. By the time Natasha nodded that they were done, Pepper felt a warmth and looseness in her muscles that sent a shot of energy through her.

"So the most important thing for a woman is to understand that most of the time, your arms and your legs will be weaker than any attacker's," Natasha explained. "Take me and Clint. He's stronger than me. I know that. So I can't rely on just punching and kicking to beat him. I use my entire body."

Pepper nodded. She'd watched enough of their heated sparring matches to know _that_ already. She moved compliantly as Natasha grabbed her hips and shifted her positioning so one foot was ahead of the other.

"Every hit, every kick, needs to have your entire body weight behind it. Show me a jab with your right hand," Natasha instructed, grabbing a punch mitt and slipping it onto her hand. She held it up to face Pepper.

Pepper obediently punched out with her right fist. She made a face when the hit didn't make the punch mitt shift at all.

"So you had your hand in a fist. That's a normal instinct, but here's what I want you to do," Natasha held up her own hand with her wrist flexed and her palm jutting forward. "Fingers break. You wanna do some damage, use the heel of your palm. Hell of a lot sturdier and hurts them just as bad or worse."

Pepper flexed her hand to mimic her.

"And this time when you throw the hit, don't just strike out with your arm. Twist your torso," Natasha moved Pepper's hips with her hands as she spoke, "bend your knees, and step into it."

Pepper nodded.

"Got it."

Natasha nodded back and raised the punching mitt again.

Pepper took a breath, bent her knees and flexed her hand. Then she drew her right hand back. She took a small step forward, doing her best to put her whole body weight behind the attack as she struck out.

The punch mitt flew backwards and Natasha's arm fanned out to defuse the force behind the hit.

"Wow!" Pepper straightened, eyes wide. "Did you see that?"

Natasha smiled proudly at her.

"I saw all right. Okay, now we're gonna practice that and then I'm gonna teach you how to use it, okay?"

Pepper nodded enthusiastically.

Natasha grabbed a second punch mitt and raised both to face Pepper. She nodded and Pepper drew in a breath and attacked.

* * *

Clint rubbed at the spot between his eyes that was trying to kill him as he pushed his way into the gym. He tried to breathe through his nose and failed, just as he had ever since he'd woken up this morning. A workout, that's what he needed. That'd clear his sinuses right up. It was probably just allergies or something.

He paused just inside the gym door, flinching when it swung back and hit him in the back. But he still didn't move.

He watched Natasha grab Pepper by the arm and then watched with an impressed arch in his eyebrow as Pepper almost flawlessly broke Natasha's grip and slammed her palm towards Nat's sternum. Natasha, being the expert in combat she was, backed away enough to keep the blow from actually harming her, but still let it land enough to push her back another step.

"Not bad," he commented as he headed towards the hanging punching bad. "Someone picking on you in the school yard or something?"

He paused in confusion when they both laughed.

"See what I mean?" Natasha commented and they both laughed harder.

Clint narrowed his gaze and glanced around to try and see what they were laughing at.

"What? Something I said?"

He shook his head and wrote it off to 'girl bonding' when his question just had them reaching for each other's shoulders in support as they laughed again.

* * *

 _end of ficlet no 4_

 _drop me a line if you would :) And tune in this time next week for another little ficlet_


	8. No 5 - Clintasha Pepperony Double Date

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Untold Stories is still in the beta process. However, I PROMISE you it will be released before the end of the month._

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clintasha and Pepperoni double date_

 _ **Submitted by:** swarz17_

* * *

"Wait…what?" Clint looked up from the arrow he was fletching to give Natasha his full attention. She was shifting clothes around in the closet, pulling various things down, staring at them and then putting them back.

"I said, we're going out to dinner," she repeated without looking at him.

Clint narrowed his eyes…there had definitely been more to it than that.

"I heard _that_ part. What was the _other_ part?"

She looked at him then, eyebrow arched in challenge.

"We're going with Pepper and Tony."

Clint sat back in his chair, fiddling absently with the arrow he'd been working on, and giving her a narrow glare.

"You're making me go on a double date?"

Natasha shifted her weight.

"No," she denied. Then immediately followed it with a slightly reluctant, "Yes."

"Really, Tash? A _double date?"_

"Save it," she tossed carelessly as she turned back to the clothes, "we're going. Besides it's not like we're going with strangers. It's Tony and Pepper. He's your best friend and you _know_ you'll end up enjoying yourself."

"Yeah," he frowned. "But a _double date_? Its so…" he paused searching for the right word.

"Normal?" she offered with a grin over her shoulder at him.

Clint made a sour face. 'Normal' wasn't a term he was used to applying to them.

"Come on," she sauntered back out of the closet and took the arrow from him, placing it carefully on the table. Then she pushed him back in the chair and straddled his lap, leaning in until her mouth hovered over his. "do normal for one night? For me?" she cajoled. Then she closed the distance between them and used her own form of bribery to get her way.

When she pulled back again, Clint found himself agreeing to the double date and whatever the hell else she wanted.

* * *

"A double date?" Tony asked doubtfully as Pepper handed him a clean shirt. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he wondered.

"A Black Sabbath t-shirt is not proper date attire, Tony. And it has grease stains on it."

Tony glanced down at his shirt. She was right. There was a large grease stain on his side. He gave her a sheepish glance and started changing.

"Clint is going," Pepper pointed out, as if Clint's presence were a challenge that Tony was honor bound to meet. Though, Tony did suppose that if Clint had been convinced to go along with this, Tony owed his friend the sacrifice of suffering through it with him.

"You're not going to make us do 'couple' things are you?" he asked as he pulled on his clean shirt.

"What exactly to you qualify as 'couple' things?" Pepper asked as she went through the closet. Choosing and discarding wardrobe choices for herself.

"I don't know…sharing milkshakes, cheesy photo booths, mini golf."

She shot him an amused glance.

"When was the last time you were part of a 'couple', Tony? The 80s?"

He returned her amusement with a dry glare. Pepper rolled her eyes and came out of the closet, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a kiss.

"It'll be fun," she said. "I promise."

* * *

"I warned you that mini golf would be a bad idea," Tony whispered to Pepper as he lined up his next shot.

"You're just grumpy because we're losing," Pepper teased as she twirled her club around. The smile on her face clearly told him that _she_ wasn't nearly as bothered by the growing gap between their scores and those of the opposing team.

"You're the one whose bright idea it was to do _couples_ teams. I tried to warn you that putting those two on the same team was like signing away any chance at victory, but _no_ …" he grumbled as he took his shot. Clint had _somehow_ gotten a hole-in-one on _every_ hole so far and Natasha was only a handful of strokes behind him. Tony and Pepper's score card wasn't nearly as nice to look at.

He watched his bright red ball rolled unerringly right up the center of the clown's tongue, only to be rejected by its giant wooden teeth as they chomped down at the last second. "Son of a b-"

" _Tony!"_ Pepper hissed, cutting her eyes meaningfully towards the family waiting behind them. The mother had already covered her little boy's ears in anticipation. Tony followed her gaze and winced.

" _Biscuit!_ Son of a biscuit, that wily clown," he corrected himself as he retrieved his ball to try again.

He got it through on the next try and Pepper managed to get hers through first try.

They rounded the large wooden structure to see Clint and Natasha lounging on a nearby bench waiting for them.

"Aw, they're so cute," Pepper wrapped her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder.

As much as he wanted to deny it, she wasn't wrong.

The two assassins looked like a couple of teenagers who were reveling in being out from under their parents' watchful eyes. Though Tony had to admit, tonight probably felt something like that. Clint and Natasha didn't tend to hang on each other where prying eyes could see and kept the PDA to a minimum even around the team. A habit, he'd always guessed, they'd learned while keeping their relationship quiet when living at SHIELD.

Clint was all but sprawled on the bench, one arm splayed back across the back of the bench and the other wrapped tightly around Natasha. For her part, she was sitting sideways, one leg folded underneath her and the other hooked over his lap. He could only see Clint's face, but if the easy, warm, _adoring_ smile was anything to go by, the two were firmly lost in their own world.

They looked relaxed and in love. And it struck Tony then that he'd never seen them like that.

Suddenly the mounting numbers on his score card didn't matter so much. Because he knew enough about his best friend and his Russian girlfriend to know that relaxing was a _choice_. Letting your guard down was a conscious move.

And, here, with him and Pepper, they'd chosen to do both.

Tony found himself smiling and reaching for Pepper's hand.

"Mini golf was a good call," he whispered before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

He was still basking in her radiant smile as they joined their friends to continue their game.

* * *

 _The end!_

 _Hope you enjoyed that one! It was pretty much straight fluff, but it was fun, right?!_

 _Drop me a line to let me know how you liked it!_


	9. No 6 - Clint and Steve and baseball

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Look at that, I actually got another one of these posted today, even WITH the update to Untold Stories. So you guys get double the pleasure, double the fun ;)_

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clint and Steve go to a baseball game_

 _ **Submitted by:** JRBarton_

* * *

Clint glanced at his watch as he pulled on his hat and reached for his wallet on the bedside table.

It was almost eleven. He needed to hurry.

"You got the tickets?" Natasha asked without looking up from the gun she had disassembled on the floor in front of her.

Clint was mostly sure he'd stored them in his wallet, but you could never be too careful. He pulled it open, immediately saw the two tickets nestled in its folds and promptly snapped it shut again.

"Got 'em."

"Then you better go. First pitch is at 1 right?" She glanced up at him and smiled.

It was 1:05 to be precise, but he wasn't going to quibble over that detail. She didn't take this stuff nearly as seriously as he did.

"And you still need to clue in the birthday boy about his surprise," she added.

Clint nodded and leaned onto the bed to kiss her goodbye. Then he headed for the door.

Abruptly, he froze.

"What if he has plans?" Clint wondered belatedly, even as he stood with his hand on the door knob.

Natasha chuckled lightly.

"Then come back here and get me, and _I'll_ go with you," she promised.

Clint smiled. That was the best back up plan he'd ever heard.

"Bye," he tossed over his shoulder as he finally headed out the door. He heard her holler a returning farewell even as he jogged through their apartment to the main door.

"Jarvis, get me a 20 on Steve," he requested.

" _Captain Rogers is in his quarters, sir."_

"Thanks, buddy."

A trot through the hall, a ride up the elevator, and another jog down another hall brought him to Steve's door.

He knocked and then rocked back on his heels as he waited.

A few moments later the knob turned and the door swung open.

"Clint," Steve stated in surprise.

Clint tossed him a little wave and then moved past him into the apartment.

"Sure come in," Steve offered with a laugh that held nothing but amusement.

Clint tore around the apartment, finding with relative ease what he certain would be in here.

He plucked the Brooklyn Dodgers baseball hat off the shelf it sat on and tossed it at Steve.

"This is a little outdated, but it'll get the job done."

Steve frowned in confusion.

"Clint, what are you talking about?"

"We've got your birthday dinner at 7, so lucky for us it's an early game."

"What is?" Steve asked in bewilderment as he stood in bare feet, sweat pants, and a t-shirt in the middle of his living area.

Clint smiled widely.

"Cap, I'm taking you to enjoy America's greatest pastime."

He watched Steve's gaze light up immediately.

"If the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn, I'd be taking you there, but that ship sailed after the 1957 season. So I'm taking you to the next best thing."

Steve arched an eyebrow.

"The Mets?"

Clint actually froze in shock for a moment, only to glare when he saw a smirk fighting its way onto Steve's face.

" _No_ , smartass. In honor of your birthday I'm taking you to see a _real_ baseball game. Go get dressed. We're going to see the Yankees."

* * *

Steve shuffled his way to his assigned seat, balancing two hot dogs, a box of cracker jacks, a bag of popcorn, a soda, and an order of nachos. He sat carefully and arranged his snack in various places on his lap and on the ground between his feet.

He was just reaching to adjust his sunglasses and make sure his hat was pulled low over his brow when Clint sat next to him. His friend had _three_ hotdogs, two orders of nachos, a bag of popcorn and a Gatorade. How he was managing to carry it all was a feat in and of itself.

Clint wore a worn navy blue Yankees hat that looked like it had seen a lot more than baseball games. But other than that had made no effort to hide his identity.

When Steve had questioned him on it when they left Stark Tower, Clint had rolled his eyes and said,

" _You kidding? Nobody recognizes_ _ **me**_ _. I jog through Central Park on a regular basis and never get a second look."_

Steve wasn't sure how Clint managed to achieve that level of anonymity, but he often found himself jealous of it.

There were still several minutes until first pitch so they both settled back in their seats.

Clint was through half a hot dog before Steve had even started on one. As he chewed, Steve sat back and sighed, absorbing the familiar atmosphere. Even if he'd never stepped foot in this stadium before today, it still felt like somewhere he'd been many times before.

That was baseball. It was timeless.

"Thank you for this," Steve offered sincerely.

Before Clint could reply, their attention was stolen by a sudden shout from section 203.

" _Yo, Jacoby!"_

A moment later the entire section began chanting the name. It only took a beat but the centerfielder acknowledged them and they moved on, chanting another name.

"It's called 'Roll Call'," Clint explained around a mouthful of hotdog. "They're famous for it. They do it every home game." Clint swallowed and nudged him. "And you're welcome. But coming to see my boys isn't exactly a chore."

"Aren't you from like Idaho or something?" Steve chuckled. "How'd you become a Yankees fan?"

Clint took another bite of his second hot dog.

"It's _Iowa_ and a guy that I knew when I was a kid was a big fan. He turned me onto them when I was about 11, took me to my first game when I was 12. After that I was hooked."

Steve didn't know a lot about Clint's time before SHIELD. The archer didn't talk about it and nobody ever asked. Not because they weren't curious, but because some instinct warned them not to bring it up. So Steve wasn't surprised, when Clint's next words were a redirect.

"What about you, Cap? When did the Dodgers become your team?"

Steve smiled at the memory that immediately filled his mind.

"Bucky and I snuck into our first game when I was 7."

Clint gave him a shocked glance.

" _You_ snuck into a game? _You_?"

Steve chuckled at Clint's surprise.

"I felt so guilty I saved for a month to go back and buy a ticket to make up for it."

He felt his cheeks redden when Clint immediately burst into a fit of a laughter.

"Of _course_ you did."

In the face of Clint's laughter, Steve couldn't help but start laughing too.

It was then, as the crowd in section 203 finished 'Roll Call' and the pitcher prepared to throw his first pitch, that Steve realized something. This had been the first time since he'd woken up from the ice that he'd been able to talk about Bucky without overwhelming sadness and guilt welling up in him.

He looked over at Clint as the archer struggled to quell his laughter enough to finish his second hot dog.

"Thank you," he said again, though this time it carried something more than it had before.

If Clint noticed, he didn't let on. Instead he just tossed Steve a wink and turned his attention to the first pitch of the game, cheering along with everyone else when it was a fast ball strike.

Steve smiled and cheered too.

* * *

 _End of ficlet no 6! Hope you enjoyed the fluff and bromance!_


	10. The Arrow Necklace

_Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Surprise again! Over on tumblr it's "Clintasha Week" today's category was "headcanons" soooo...I saw a gif set a tumblr user named_ **clintasha** (fitting, right?) _made referencing the arrow necklace. If you want to see her post, head on over to tumblr. Anyway, I know that the arrow necklace has been a request by a few people in the www ficlet prompts too. So this fic goes out to both the creator of that super cool gif set and to those of you that have asked for the origin of the arrow necklace (I can never remember who is who between tumblr and this site, so these are the tumblr handles):_ **ka** **itwin3, natasha823,** _and_ **amandadubs** _if anyone else submitted that prompt and I forgot you, I'm sorry. Let me know and I'll correct it :)_

 _this is only about 1400 words long, so I though it fit into the "Snapshots" really well._

 _This was beta'd by_ **JRBarton** _but any remaining errors are mine._

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Arrow necklace_

 _ **Submitted by:** kaitwin3, natasha823, and amandadubs_

* * *

Natasha pulled the tie from her hair and let it fall loosely to her shoulders as she wearily trudged up the stairs to her 4th floor safe house apartment. SHIELD had assigned her one of theirs when she got to the country, but other than her scheduled check-ins, she didn't spend much time there. She preferred the relative comforts of hers and Clint's off the record safe house.

She'd practically moved into this one. She'd been here, on this mission, for almost a month now. A _month_. It wasn't the mission itself that was wearing on her. She'd done longer missions than this with no problem.

It was _him_. It was the fact that he was on a mission of his own and they'd only had one actual conversation, over a static filled phone call, two weeks ago. It had been a total of 90 seconds long and had been the only contact they'd had in 4 weeks.

She sighed, finally cresting the final flight of stairs. She reached into her right boot and pulled out her key, sliding it into the lock. She blamed her fatigue, but it wasn't until she turned the key, that she felt it.

There was someone in her apartment.

She froze for half a breath, stretching her senses. Then a smile curved the corners of her lips up and she pushed her way through the door.

His back was to her, hands buried in soapy water in the sink, dishes clinking together as he cleaned them. The small, rickety kitchen table was set, food spread out and waiting to be served.

Clint.

"Didn't anybody ever teach you that staring is rude?" he teased without turning around.

Natasha's smile widened. She slid her bag off her shoulder and dropped it to the floor, moving across the small apartment towards him. He reached for a towel, drying his hands even as she approached.

"I wrapped up my gig this morning, even got my mission report submitted," he told her as he turned, his blue-gray eyes tracking her progress towards him. "I figured nobody would miss me for a day or so." He shrugged carelessly and tossed the towel back to the counter.

She finally reached him, hands sliding up his chest, around the back of his head and pulling him down into a kiss. A kiss that summed up a month of separation.

When they finally parted, they were both smiling like idiots.

"Good surprise?" he asked with a slight laugh.

"Good surprise," she confirmed, smile widening.

"Well," Clint's hands tightened on her hips and he started walking her backwards, "the surprise isn't over." A chair hit the back of her legs and at his urging, she sat, relaxing back even as he headed back to the sink. "Dinner is five minutes away and I got a jump start on clean up while I was waiting for you, so that, mercifully, will be done too."

Natasha tilted her head a little, appreciating her view as she watched him lean back over the sink.

"How'd you know when I'd be back?" she asked curiously.

He laughed.

"You practically wrote out a schedule in your mission file, Nat. It wasn't exactly a job for Sherlock Holmes," he teased.

Natasha rolled her eyes. She was used to the teasing about her meticulous planning. She eyed her neatly stacked mission details on the counter, wondering idly if he'd rearranged anything in there when he was snooping.

"Relax," he laughed at her expense again without turning away from his task, "I put everything back where you had it, you freak."

"Just because you treat _your_ mission files like coloring books, doesn't mean everyone does, _Barton_ ," she shot back. "Some of us are actually professionals."

"Hey," he tossed her a laughing glare, "that was one time and my improvements on that assholes picture were worthy of the Louvre."

Natasha snorted a mocking laugh and shook her head. She reached for the basket of French bread on the table, tearing off a piece and popping it in her mouth.

"So…" he started suddenly, back still to her. He turned a little then, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "An arrow?"

She froze in momentary confusion. Then she remembered it. Her fingers went to brush across the delicate arrow resting in the hollow between her collar bones and she smiled warmly. Didn't miss a thing, her hawk.

She'd bought it last week. She'd been trying to decide what she wanted to do for lunch, wavering about where she should go. She'd wished, almost absently, for Clint to be there. He always knew a good place to eat, no matter where they were. She'd missed him so much in that moment that her appetite had fled. So instead of seeking out food, she wandered a local market.

She'd seen this necklace by accident. But once it had caught her eye, she couldn't get it out of her head. It was simple, but it was perfect.

She looked back up at him, knowing he was waiting for an explanation. She wasn't usually one for sentimentalities.

"Long story short," she opted for honesty, "I missed you."

She watched him pause, his whole body going momentarily still. Then he was moving again, turning a little more fully so he could meet her eyes over his shoulder as he smiled.

"I thought that's why you stole my hoodie?" he teased.

Natasha smiled shyly, biting her lip and shrugging innocently as she thought of the old, gray army hoodie balled up on the bed right now. She'd tossed it there that morning when she had to take it off to get dressed. She hadn't thought he'd notice the old hoodie missing, he hardly ever wore it anymore. Though, she mused, that _could_ be because she was always stealing it.

Clint shifted the last dish onto the drying rack and toweled off his hands again. Then he was chuckling and moving towards her. He braced a hand on the table and leaned close.

"I don't mind that particular theft so much," he assured. "I'm mostly jealous that I can't steal any of _your_ clothes to wear when I miss _you_." An impish twinkle lit his gaze. "But I just don't think I'd look as sexy in your Victoria Secret yoga pants as you do in my hoodie."

Even as she laughed outright at the visual that inspired, he kissed her lightly.

"You're such an idiot," she accused warmly even as her laughter faded to a chuckle.

His response was just to grin and kiss her again.

A moment later his hand was threading into the hair at the back of her head and he was pressing her back into the chair as the kiss deepened, promising more.

Without warning, he pulled back. She might have made a sound of protest, but she refused to acknowledge it. Clint must have heard it though, because he was grinning again.

"No dessert before dinner," he teasingly scolded. Never mind that _he_ had started it. Then he was moving away towards the oven. Even as he reached for an oven mitt, the timer went off.

Natasha shook her head, snitched another bite of bread, and smiled.

* * *

Clint pulled out of his slight doze when he felt Natasha's fingers on his wrist, turning it so the lighter skin on the inside was exposed. He heard an unfamiliar 'pop' then there was something oddly cold and weirdly pointy pressing against his skin.

He opened his eyes, lifting his head to see what the hell she was doing.

She was stretched lazily across the bed, his old hoodie adorning her torso to ward off the chill of the room. Her hair was a tangled mess on her head, falling in soft waves to her shoulders. Her attention was fixed on his wrist and on the task she was undertaking. He arched an eyebrow and watched.

She had a black sharpie in hand and was meticulously drawing something on his inner wrist.

"Are you defacing my body?" he asked with a slight laugh.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk, but her focus stayed on her project.

A moment later she pulled back, capped the sharpie, and tossed it away. She blew lightly on his wrist and then turned it so he could see what she'd done.

She'd drawn a symbol. An hourglass. It was the symbol of the Black Widow.

 _Her_ symbol.

"For when you miss me," she told him warmly.

Clint found himself smiling as she turned in the bed, nestling herself into his side. Even as he felt the pull of sleep again, he lifted his wrist, examining his new ink.

As reminders went, it wasn't so bad.

He dropped his arm down, resting it across Natasha's back, pulling her closer. Sleep came easily after that.


	11. Puppies

_Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _So "Clintasha Week" continues over on tumblr. Today's category was "mini scenarios" as generated by an online generator lol. Well, I got several that I thought would be fun to do a little ficlet about. They'll all be short because they're just for fun. I figured I'd share them here instead of hoarding them over on tumblr. Expect at least one or two more later today._

 _This is unbeta'd and off the cuff so all mistakes are my own and you have my apologies :) Enjoy._

* * *

 **Scenario: Clint and Natasha take care of a bunch of orphaned puppies and/or kittens**

* * *

"Clint?" Natasha called out as she pushed her way into their Brooklyn safe house. "I got your message. 'Brooklyn asap.' With a little smiley emoji. _Cryptic_ much?" she laughed, as she glanced around, reasonably sure she was here for some form of booty call.

A sudden scratching on the hardwood, followed quickly by even more scratching, had her frowning in confusion. Her eyes found her wayward partner on the floor of the living room at the same time a herd of tiny furry creatures stampeded towards her.

She could only stare in slack jawed shock as no less than a dozen golden retriever puppies swarmed her feet.

"Look, Tasha!" Clint smiled broadly even as made no effort to fend off a little puppy that had elected not to follow his companions and instead attack Clint's face with its tongue. "Puppies!"

Natasha arched an eyebrow, crouching to run her hands over the numerous furry bodies all vying for her attention.

"I can see that. A _lot_ of puppies." She couldn't help but smile though as slobbery tongues assaulted her hands and tiny teeth playfully nibbled at her fingers. "Did you rob a petstore?"

He rolled his eyes and stood, lifting the puppy still assaulting his face with him.

" _No_. Well…sort of?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes skeptically, suddenly wondering if they should be keeping an eye out for cops.

"I was walking back from visiting the orphanage and stumbled upon these guys penned up in a back alley. They didn't have any food, no water and there was no sign of a mother or an owner. So naturally…"

"You did some digging," Natasha finished with a sigh. She didn't even bother asking what Clint had been doing wandering _back_ alleys.

"The guy that owned the building was running a low rate puppy mill. This is two litters worth and both moms died. He obviously wasn't taking care of them so I…uh… _liberated_ them."

Natasha stood and moved to meet him in the living room. Her hoard of admirers followed at her heels and then set about taking turns running circles around first her legs, then Clint's.

"Liberated them, huh?" she asked with an arched eyebrow. She gave him a questioning glare and waited for him to answer her unasked question. There was the small matter of the charmer that had been _running_ the puppy mill.

"The asshole's not in the hospital or anything…at least not _anymore_. Minor injuries only, should be healed up in about four to six weeks tops," Clint confessed.

Natasha rolled her eyes. Leave it to Clint to classify injuries that needed four to six weeks of recovery as _minor_.

"Well…what are we gonna do with them?" she finally asked.

Clint gave her a hopeful look.

"No," she refused. "We are not keeping _twelve_ puppies."

"How about one?" he tried, holding out the fur ball that hadn't stopped licking his cheek. "Like this little guy?" The puppy happily transferred his affections to her, promptly licking her nose.

"Clint, we're never here. One or both of us could be gone for weeks at a time and even when we're not on a mission, we're hardly ever _here_. You going to smuggle a puppy into your room on base? Good luck."

Clint frowned and sighed in resignation.

"I guess you have a point. One day though, Tash, I'm gonna find the perfect dog and then you won't be able to say no."

"Yes, well until that lucky day arrives, we need to figure out what to do with all of _these_ dogs."

"The animal shelter a few blocks over takes strays and they have a no kill policy. We can take them there on Monday."

Natasha frowned. Monday? It was _Saturday_.

"Why Monday?"

Clint grinned again.

"Because we have the weekend off and _why not_?"

With a chuckle, Natasha resigned herself to her fate. A weekend with an apartment full of puppies. This was going to be…interesting.

"Uh oh," Clint muttered suddenly.

Natasha smelled it then.

"Oh God…" she grimaced. "What _is_ that?" She glanced down to see a little furry body leaving a pile of something brown and nasty on her boot. "Really?!" she groaned.

Clint chuckled nervously.

"Should be fun, right?"

He looked down sharply when another puppy hiked its leg and peed on his boot.

"Awww, puppy, _no_ …"

Natasha grinned.

"Oh yeah," she agreed. " _Real_ fun."


	12. Handcuffed

_Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _So "Clintasha Week" continues over on tumblr. Today's category was "mini scenarios" as generated by an online generator lol. Well, I got several that I thought would be fun to do a little ficlet about. They'll all be short because they're just for fun. I figured I'd share them here instead of hoarding them over on tumblr. Expect at least one or two more later today. I did one already today, and here's another. I'm planning at least one more cuz I'm having a lot of fun._

 _This is unbeta'd and off the cuff so all mistakes are my own and you have my apologies :) Enjoy._

* * *

 **Scenario: Natasha and Clint got handcuffed together and lost the key (slightly altered as they never HAD the key)**

* * *

Clint stirred when he felt something pull on his arm. He felt rough concrete under his cheek…something hard and unforgiving wrapped around his wrist. It was a familiar feeling…like handcuffs.

His eyes snapped open, adrenaline surging through his system and forcing him to abrupt awareness. Memories slammed into him in rapid succession.

Drug Cartel. Mexico. Ambush. Fighting. A crowbar coming towards his head. Then there was nothing…except…he hadn't been alone.

 _Natasha_.

He shoved off the ground, confused to find only _one_ of his hands restrained. He sat up and twisted, ignoring the sharp pain that lanced through him as his body reminded him he had at least a few cracked ribs.

She was there, sprawled out next to him on the concrete.

"Natasha," he snapped her name lowly, voice barely above a hissing whisper. Best not to let their captors know they were awake.

She moved immediately, eyes fluttering open in response to his voice.

There was a nasty gash hidden in her hairline and what promised to be a colorful bruise blossoming along her jaw, but otherwise she seemed relatively intact. She reached out a hand, only to pull up short when she met sudden resistance.

"What the hell?" she groused, groggy gaze sharpening as she stared at her wrist. He watched her see the handcuffs, watched her realize the other end of the unwelcome bracelet was securely wrapped around _his_ wrist.

"Looks like you're stuck with me," he quipped with a weary grin as he helped pull her to sitting.

For a long moment they could only stare down at their joined wrists.

They were handcuffed together. In another situation, it might have been an intriguing development.

As things stood, though, it was going to make things a little more difficult.

"Don't suppose you have a lock pick on you," he went on, eyeing the gash on her head worriedly when she seemed to be taking a bit too long to process their situation.

"Uh…" awareness seemed to come back to her all at once, and she reached down into her boot. "They must have taken it. You?"

"I know I'm not as pretty as you, but I'm betting they didn't just pat down one of us. Kinda sucks. I like it better when the bad guys are stupid."

She smirked and brushed her fingers over the cut he'd been ignoring above his eyebrow.

"But where's the fun in that," she teased.

Clint quirked his lips in response and tilted his head a little.

"True. What do you say? Ready to blow this joint?"

Together they stood and faced the door. They moved together towards it and Natasha leaned to examine the lock.

"So…this is gonna be…" Clint wiggled his wrist around, forcing hers to move as well, " _interesting._ "

"We've managed in more complicated situations," Natasha shrugged dismissively.

Clint shot her an incredulous look.

" _When?_ "

She had to think for a moment, but then she shrugged a shoulder.

"Rio," she stated. "You can kick this open."

Clint shifted and braced himself.

"Rio? Rio _doesn't_ count. That wasn't even a _mission_. Well it _was_ …but what you're talking about, that wasn't _part_ of the mission."

Natasha rolled her eyes and started to cross her arms over her chest, only to abort the gesture when Clint shot her an annoyed glance and pulled his arm back.

"Not _that_ time in Rio, Clint. The other time, with the meat market."

Clint shuddered at the memory.

"Okay, fair." He drew in a deep breath. "Ready?"

She gave him a sharp nod.

He drew his leg back and slammed his boot into the door, just inside the lock.

The door splintered and flew open. Then they were in motion.

Right out of the proverbial gate, the handcuffs proved to be a _pain in the ass_.

She went left, he went right, and they both ended up stumbling back into each other when the unwelcome tether holding them together kept either of them from continuing.

"Okay," Clint rubbed at his now _sore_ wrist. "This could be a little harder than we thought."

Natasha tilted her head a little, eyebrow arching in reluctant agreement.

Her eyes widened suddenly and slammed a hand onto his shoulder, pushing him down.

"Get down!" she warned, even as she launched herself up. She twisted her body over his head, scissoring her legs into the guard that had just rounded the corner. Rather than let her arm get twisted out of socket, Clint instinctively moved with her, turning and untwisting her shoulder while she slammed her free fist into the guard's face, putting him down for good.

"Well…that went better," he smirked. Maybe they _would_ get the hang of this.

And they did, _eventually_. But not before he almost pulled her arm out of socket by accident. And not before she pulled him off balance at the exact wrong moment, letting a well-aimed punch past his defenses and allowing it to slam right into his nose.

Other than that though…they managed… _mostly_.

When they finally fought their way free of the compound and stumbled, still handcuffed, out into the dessert, they were both a little worse for wear.

"So…" Clint mused as they started the long walk back to civilization, "as fun as this was," he jiggled his bound arm again, "let's not do it again. I mean I love a challenge as much as the next guy, but being tethered to your hurricane is bad for my health."

Natasha scoffed.

"Says the guy that was flipping all over the place and nearly twisted my arm out of socket."

"Hey, don't knock the acrobatics, they kept me from getting shot _again_."

"Clint, only _one_ of them ever got a chance to fire a weapon and he only fired it once. The fact that you almost got shot _anyway_ should tell you something about your relationship with bullets."

Clint couldn't exactly argue with her. He did tend to attract bullets with unhealthy frequency.

"What can I say…it must be my _magnetic_ personality."

Even Natasha couldn't hold back her snorting laugh at the bad joke.

"You're an idiot," she accused lightly as they trudged off into the horizon.


	13. Sunset

_Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _So "Clintasha Week" continues over on tumblr. Today's category was "mini scenarios" as generated by an online generator lol._

 _This is my last of these for today. Tomorrow the category changes so we'll see what happens ;) This one is not nearly as fluffy as the last few have been, but hopefully still enjoyable :)_

 _This is unbeta'd and off the cuff so all mistakes are my own and you have my apologies :) Enjoy._

* * *

 **Scenario: Clint and Natasha watching the sunset**

* * *

Clint clawed his left hand into the sand, digging his fingers in and _pulling_ with everything he had. The bullet wound in his side burned and violently let its disapproval be known, but he ignored the pain. Instead, he tightened his right arm around the precious cargo he was holding firmly to his side and pulled again.

The water receded around him as he made slow and painful progress further onto the beach. When he finally made it far enough that the water was only lightly lapping at his hips, he braced his left arm in the wet sand, and heaved the still form clutched to his side. His side screamed in protest and a vicious snarl of pain tore from his throat as he shifted her up onto the sand next to him.

Natasha groaned softly, but didn't fight the rough treatment.

"Nat," Clint rasped, coughing wetly to try and expel whatever water had tried to sneak past his lips during his frantic swim towards the shore.

She didn't say anything, but her nearest hand shifted, reaching for him.

"I'm right here," he promised, forcing himself to his knees and then digging into his cargo pocket for his sat phone. Having known they were headed out to pull this job on a _boat_ , he'd had enough foresight to toss the damn thing in a plastic bag before stowing it in his pants.

He thanked his lucky stars for that decision as he ripped it free of the bag and turned it on.

He dialed even as he shifted, going to his butt next to Natasha. He tucked the phone between his shoulder and cheek and reached for her, pulling again, shifting her up to lean back against his chest. While he waited for the call to connect, he dug into his other cargo pocket, pulling out another plastic baggie, this one protecting two field bandages. It wasn't a permanent solution, but he hoped to God it got the job done until help arrived. He tore the first one open with his teeth and pressed it firmly against the bullet wound on Natasha's torso. She groaned again, rousing a little more as the pain got her attention.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered. Then he tore open the second bandage and pressed it onto the wound on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Stop apologizing, idiot," she whispered with warm affection, awareness seeming to slowly return even as his call finally connected.

" _Hawk?"_

"Overwatch, target is retired, but we need a hot extraction. Widow's down."

" _Where are you?"_ Phil asked sharply.

"Had to go into the water, swam south. I don't…" he trailed off and looked up and down the beach, searching for a clue as to their location. There was nothing but sand. Clint clenched his eyes closed, visualizing the map he'd studied before they'd headed out a few hours ago. "I swam south. On the map, there's a small cluster of island south west of where the target's boat was. I think that's where we ended up. I don't know which island."

" _Got it. On our way."_

Clint tossed the phone down into the sand and wrapped his arms around Natasha, pulling her more securely against his chest.

For a moment he just sat there, staring out over the water. He watched the sun start its slow decent towards the horizon.

He wanted to scold her. To tell her she shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have shielded him when bullets started flying. But the words caught in his throat. How could he be mad? He would have done the _same damn thing_ if he'd been the one to see the shooter first.

Instead, he tightened his arms around her and stared out at the setting sun.

"Nat, you with me?"

There was a moment of silence then she shifted her head a little where it was resting against his chest.

"I'm here," she finally answered, voice made quiet with pain and fatigue.

"Hell of a view, don't you think? How often do we get to sit and enjoy a sunset like that?"

He felt her shift against him again, straightening her head so she could look out onto the water too.

"Never," she snorted softly. "We usually…" she paused to draw in a breath, "operate after dark."

"True," he grinned. "We're like vampires in that respect, mostly nocturnal. But there was that time in Hawaii? Remember? When Phil got us all those days off and we learned to surf?"

She chuckled a little and then coughed wetly.

Clint tightened his arms around her again and dropped his face to rest on the top of her head, deeply inhaling the scent of saltwater and vanilla. He steeled himself and raised his gaze again, watching the sun sink lower.

"I remember," she whispered.

"Now _that_ was a hell of a sunset," Clint went on cheerfully, ignoring the darkening of his own vision as the effects of his own injury and his frantic marathon swim settled in. "We should go back there, to Hawaii…or to Cape Town. God, that was one of the most beautiful cities I've ever seen. I'm not supposed go back there though, Phil would have a shit fit."

"Well," Natasha mused quietly, "there is an international arms dealer that wants to kill you there."

Clint huffed.

"That country hates me, you know," he muttered.

"I know," she breathed softly, her head lolling a little on his chest.

"Stay with me, Nat."

A pause. The waves crashed. The wind lightly brushed against them.

"I'm here," she promised again.

Together, they watched the sun sink lower, tracked its progress as the minutes passed…until it was gone. Eventually, Natasha went limp against him. The last thing Clint heard before the darkness took him too, was the feint thump of chopper blades drawing closer.

He surrendered to unconsciousness willingly then, because he didn't have to fight anymore.

Phil was there.


	14. Sushi

_Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _So "Clintasha Week" continues over on tumblr. Today's category was "Budapest/Tokyo" So since I've already done a full length Budapest story, that left me Tokyo. I haven't really watched the tv series but I've seen that clip. But I was still at a loss as to WHAT to write about today. Well,_ **thababes** _suggested a sushi date, and that's what I ran with. So, here we are! It's set in the VPU, obviously, and as you all know Tokyo bears some significance for Clint in this series._

 _This is unbeta'd and off the cuff so all mistakes are my own and you have my apologies :) Enjoy._

* * *

"I love this city," Natasha sighed happily as she moved through the crowded streets side by side with Clint. They were both in civilian clothes, doing their best to blend in, appear as normal tourists.

Her remark didn't draw much of a reaction from her partner beyond a noncommittal grunt. Other than that, he remained impassive, expression neutral.

Natasha sighed. He'd been like this since they'd gotten to Tokyo, _no_ , since they'd gotten this mission. The moment they'd found out where they were going, he'd all but shut down. He'd been broody and silent where she'd grown used to sarcasm and quips.

"How about food?" she suggested cheerfully. "What hole in the wall, only locals know about it, place do you know from last time you were here?"

Because it was _obvious_ he'd been here before. She was hoping to get him to focus on something positive, something he loved – food.

Instead, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugged.

"I don't know."

Natasha gave him a doubtful look, but didn't push it. She'd bide her time.

"How about sushi? You like sushi, right?"

"Never had it," he replied blandly.

She paused, pulling him to a stop next to her.

"You've _never_ had sushi? How can y…you know what," she started walking again, "I see this as an opportunity. How often do _I_ get to be the one to educate _you_ on local cuisine? Come on, I know a place."

* * *

He liked sushi.

All it took was one bite and he was hooked. He was so focused on enjoying every goddamned bite of it, that he almost didn't register Natasha's voice when she spoke.

"How do you come to Tokyo and never try sushi?" she asked bluntly.

He shrugged a shoulder and shoved another bite into his mouth.

"Never said I'd been here," he replied as he chewed.

She gave him a sour look, but held back a scolding for talking with food in his mouth.

"Clint, the moment Phil said 'Tokyo' you went all broody and moody. No way you haven't been here before. Now do you want to tell me what the hell is wrong with Tokyo or do I need to drag it out of you?" she quirked her eyebrow and smirked.

He tried to resist smiling at the playful threat, but as had often proved the case, her charms were just too powerful for him to resist.

So he smirked right back.

"That's something I don't wanna test…your interrogation techniques against my anti-interrogation training, could go on forever."

She scoffed sarcastically.

"I think we _both_ know how that would eventually end," she teased. Then she leaned over the table and went on in a stage whisper, "You wouldn't stand a chance."

He chuckled again and sat back, letting out a deep sigh as he met her gaze. As they stared at each other, he felt his expression sober as he thought over his controversial history with Tokyo.

She let her own expression do the same, showing him she was listening, that she was taking this seriously.

"It was here, Natasha," he finally admitted. "In Tokyo. This is where it started for me…in a warehouse six blocks from here I took my first contract from a man named Hayato."

Natasha sat back slowly, realization dawning in her eyes.

"I was 18 years old and it was _here_ ," he shrugged a little helplessly. " _Here_ that I became what I needed to be to survive in this world. And _that_ ended up being something that I hated." He gave her a sad smile. "So, yeah, I've been to Tokyo."

Natasha chewed the inside of her lip for a moment, but never broke her gaze from him.

"I didn't know," she finally admitted quietly.

"I know you didn't," he sighed and sat forward. "I didn't tell you, that's on me, not you. I know I got, how did you put it… _'broody and moody'_ …when I found out we were coming here and I should have told you. I just haven't…" he sighed and rubbed a hand across his mouth. "I've only been here once since then, on another contract, before Phil found me."

"Not once?" she questioned in surprise.

He shrugged.

"Never came through my mission rotation with SHIELD."

She looked away then, and when she looked back her eyes had a mischievous twinkle in them.

"I have an idea," she grinned. "We have a few hours until we need to go be spies again. How about…we go back to our place and make some _new_ memories of this city?" Her eyebrow quirked suggestively.

Clint huffed a laugh, trying to gage if she was serious. The smirk that curved up the corner of her mouth told him she _was_. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and stood abruptly, digging money out of his pocket and tossing it on the table.

He grabbed her hand as he moved past her chair and pulled her, laughing, after him.

If he was lucky, Tokyo was about to be unforgettable for an entirely _different_ reason than it had been when he got here.


	15. Movie Night

_Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _So "Clintasha Week" continues over on tumblr. Today's category was "domestic" as in showing our assassins in domestic life. This one was fun and sweet and has a new character in it that will be making his debut in the VPU in the near future ;)_

 _This is unbeta'd and off the cuff so all mistakes are my own and you have my apologies :) Enjoy._

* * *

Natasha glanced down when she felt a nudge at her knee. She sighed at the sight of two deep brown eyes staring forlornly up at her.

"I already told you, _no_."

Still the eyes did the staring. She looked resolutely back at the TV, watching Judd Nelson run through the high school hallway, yelling and banging on lockers as he went. A pathetic whine, barely loud enough to be considered a sound at all, floated up from the place by her knees again.

Against her will, her eyes drifted down again.

Still with the staring.

She sighed.

"Fine." No sooner had the words left her mouth than Clint's dog was leaping up onto the couch next to her. "Clint spoils you," she groused as Lucky circled on the couch no less than six times before settling in a ball with a contented sigh, his snout resting happily on her thigh.

"I'm not the one flip flopping and sending him mixed signals," a voice spoke up quietly from the doorway.

Natasha twisted on the couch, surprised to see Clint leaning wearily in the doorway, duffle tossed over his shoulder, held in place by his grip on the handles. She hadn't heard him come in, hadn't sensed him in the room. _Somebody_ had been distracting her. She glared at the ball of reddish gold fur next to her even as Lucky leapt up at the sound of Clint's voice.

The dog dove over the back of the couch and ran to meet his owner as Clint stepped farther into the room, nudging the door close behind him. He dropped his duffle and knelt, meeting the enthusiastic greeting Lucky showered on him with a tired smile. For a few moments he gave his full attention to the young dog. Then he was standing and heading towards her, Lucky on his heels.

"I thought you weren't getting back until tomorrow," Natasha commented as he circled the couch and dropped down next to her with a sigh.

"And miss movie night? We've had this on the books for weeks," he replied as he melted into the cushions. Lucky twitched impatiently at his feet, but didn't make a move to jump up.

Clint may spoil him, but he'd also trained him well.

Natasha stared at Clint's profile as he took a few slow breaths, eyes half-lidded, watching the tv but not really seeing it.

"Rough mission?"

He blew out a weary breath and shifted forward, pulling at the laces on his boots and then kicking them off. "Let's just say sleep's been on the backburner for the last 72 hours and I just drove _9_ hours from the bowls of Canada to get back for movie night."

Natasha smiled. She hadn't thought he'd make it. She'd accepted that she was going to spend their first movie night in months alone…well, alone with Lucky. The others in the tower had all made their own plans for tonight, it _was_ Friday night after all. Even Steve was going to hang out with a buddy of his he'd met at the VA.

And now here Clint was, exhausted, and probably not going to make it past the first few minutes of the movie, but _here_.

"So what are we watching?" Clint asked as he shifted, sprawling out on the couch and resting his head on her thigh without asking permission. He patted his hand against his chest and a moment later his had a chest full of dog. Lucky wriggled his way between Clint and the back of the couch and settled comfortably with his head nestled on Clint's chest.

"Breakfast Club," she replied easily, already reaching for the remote to start the movie over.

"Ahh, a classic," Clint mused with a grin as he buried a hand in Lucky's fur.

Natasha could swear, if dogs could purr, Lucky would be purring like a motor right now. He looked so content, as if all was finally right in his doggy world.

Natasha pointed the remote at the TV, and was just about to hit rewind when a quick glance down stayed her hand.

Clint's eyes were already closed, breathing even. Head on Clint's chest, Lucky was asleep too.

So Natasha let the movie keep playing, reached for the blanket across the back of the couch, and with a flick of her wrist spread it over her partner and his dog.

Then she settled back into the cushions and grabbed her bowl of popcorn off the end table.

Movie nights were her favorite.


	16. A Force For Good

_Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie or tv show in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _So "Clintasha Week" was extended! I didn't find out until today because I wasn't on tumblr much yesterday. So I'm a day behind, but that's good new for you guys! Cuz it means more ficlets! Yesterday's theme was "Quotes" so I did a fic based on a quote submitted by the tumblr user_ **monicamcentee.** _I'm still planning on doing a sequel to "She Made A Different Call" so that will be coming soon too!_

 _This is unbeta'd and off the cuff so all mistakes are my own and you have my apologies :)_

 _This could also be known as one time Clint convinced Natasha she mattered and that she could make a difference. And one time Natasha reminded Clint, that for him, both were already true._

* * *

 _One of the most amazing things that can happen is finding someone who sees everything you are and won't let you be anything less. They see the potential of you. The see endless possibilities. And through their eyes, you start to see yourself the same way. As someone who matters. As someone who can make a difference in this world.  
_ _ **Susane Colasanti**_

* * *

Clint rubbed at his eyes as he wearily stumbled down the jet ramp. He hadn't slept in…30 hours now? He should have been able to sleep on the flight back, but _no_ …no, _instead_ he'd had to fill out a full mission report. A mission report for a _surveillance_ mission, a goddamned _surveillance_ mission. Surveillance missions barely merited the paperwork you had to fill out _while_ executing the surveillance, much less a full summary report at the end. And yet, he'd had to do _both_.

Though, he had to admit that _this_ mission sure as hell beat his _last_ surveillance mission. This had been his first gig after nearly dying, well _actually_ dying and being revived, in Uzbekistan. He'd been told, in no uncertain terms, that he was to cross every damn 't' and dot every damn 'i'. Phil had as much as told him that if he stepped a toe out of line, that toe was getting cut off.

So instead of _sleeping_ on the flight back, he'd been crossing 't's and dotting 'i's.

"You look terrible," Phil greeted with a teasing grin, reaching to take Clint's go-bag out of his hand and turning to walk with him as they headed out of the hangar. One up-side to not being allowed to fly himself anywhere right now – no flight paperwork. "Especially for a guy that's been on a cushy surveillance detail for the three weeks."

"Yeah, you try sleeping in a shack in the middle of the Moroccan dessert with no AC," Clint grumbled, rubbing a hand through his hair and grumbling under his breath when sand fluttered out like dandruff.

"There was the flight back…" Phil cut himself off when Clint shoved a thick stack of papers against his chest.

" _Full_ mission report, as _demanded_."

When Phil just grinned, Clint nearly lashed out.

"Now if you've got nothing else for me to do to make me feel like a snot nosed newbie, I'd like to hit the rack…and the _shower_. Water pressure in the dessert sucks."

Clint started towards the residence halls without waiting for a response, but Phil's voice calling after him brought him up short.

"Actually…"

Clint sighed and slowly turned.

"What, Phil? _What_? What could you _possibly_ need from me _right_ _ **now**_?"

"It's Romanoff…"

Clint met his handler's gaze in surprise.

Well _shit_.

* * *

He found her alone on the roof in _his_ spot. For a moment he just stood a few feet away, watching her. He wasn't good at this, at _talking_. But he was the one that had made the call to bring her here, so this was on him. Or that's what Phil had told him.

She knew he was there, she _had_ to. But she didn't say anything.

Clint took breath, still hardly believing it was _him_ being sent to do a pep talk. Usually he was the one _needing_ one.

"Do I need to stake a claim up here or something to keep you from always stealing my spot?" he teased as he moved towards her, dropping down next to her without being invited.

She gave him a dry glare, but didn't reply.

"So I hear you beat up a guy in training. Put him in the infirmary."

Her posture stiffened a little and she shot him another look.

"I've heard _you've_ done worse," she shot back.

Clint chuckled.

"That's true," he admitted. "Back when I first got here I had a problem with restraint. I was angry and I took that out on anybody that gave me half a reason. But you wouldn't know anything about _that_ , would you," he arched a challenging eyebrow at her.

She sighed and looked away.

"You're probably thinking right about now that maybe you aren't cut out for this. Maybe I made a mistake when I brought you here. Maybe you're too far gone to be what you need to be to fit here," Clint went on. "That if you can lose control during a _sparring_ session, who's to say you won't do the same out in the field."

She didn't look at him, but he could see her shoulders droop a little.

"But _you_ , Romanoff, you aren't like me. You aren't like I was back then. You're stronger, _calmer_ , a hell of a lot less angry." He looked out over the compound with her, not trying to catch her gaze or force eye contact. "So what happened with the sparring session?"

Because apparently she'd nearly killed someone and had been hiding out up here ever since.

For a long moment she was quiet and he was starting to wonder what the hell he was supposed to do if she wouldn't talk to him.

But then, she sighed.

"When I was fighting him…for a minute, I just…I wasn't _here_ ," she admitted quietly. "I'm just not used to…" she trailed off and waved a hand vaguely. But he understood without her going on.

"It not being life and death," he finished for her. "I get that, believe it or not."

She twisted her fingers together in her lap and seemed to battle with herself before she spoke again.

"I don't know if I can do this," she admitted quietly.

Clint chuckled and held up an apologetic hand when she glared at him.

"I'm sorry, I just…" he shook his head. "Romanoff, I think you're going to end up being one of the _best_ SHIELD has ever seen, maybe _the_ best. You're gonna let one bad sparring session shake you? _Really_?" He chuckled again. "I didn't take you for a delicate flower."

"I'm _not_ ," she snapped.

"Good," he snapped back. "Because I hate to think I risked my career, not to mention my _life_ , for someone who can't handle the heat."

She met his gaze then, for the first time since he'd come up here.

"It's not going to be easy, Romanoff. I never told you it would be. You want a new life? You have to fight for it. But you have to be ready, you have to _accept_ , that you're going to _stumble_. You might even _fall_. But you get your ass back up and keep fighting, you make it _worth_ it."

She stared at him, listening.

"You could matter, Romanoff. You could end up being the kind of force for _good_ in the world that the shitheads we go after will be terrified of. It's on _you_ to believe you can _be that_. It's on you to make it happen."

Her brow furrowed slightly and she looked back out over the compound.

He sighed pushed his way to standing. He needed a bed…and as shower.

"Do you believe that?" she asked suddenly, before he had a chance to turn away. She refused to look up at him as she went on. "Do you really believe I could be that?"

"Romanoff, why the hell would I have done what I _did_ if I didn't believe that?"

He saw a faint smirk turn up the corner of her mouth and he wondered if he was about to be insulted. But then the smirk faded and she nodded seriously. Clint narrowed his eyes at her. She needed to loosen up.

" _And_ ," he added with a smirk of his own, "if you ever feel like trying to pound someone's face into the ground again, you got _me_ for that." He turned to face her, backing slightly away from the roof's edge. "Now get up. Let out some of that aggression." When she gave him a doubtful look over her shoulder, he winked. "I can take it."

Her lips curved into a kind of terrifying smile, but Clint just tried to ignore that.

She stood and faced him and he dropped into a fighting stance.

"Give it your best shot, Romanoff."

* * *

 _Three years later…_

* * *

Natasha paused outside their private training room, hearing the sound of something pounding into a punching bag. She hesitated, taking a breath. Pep talks weren't really her thing, that was more Phil's area of expertise. But Phil was why she was here.

" _He won't let it go, Romanoff. I talked to him, I thought it helped…but you were there with him in Vietnam. He's punishing himself for what happened to those kids. Talk to him, please. Maybe he'll listen to you."_

They'd gotten back from Vietnam a week ago. Clint had spent a two of those days in the infirmary…and when he'd snuck out of the infirmary, he'd spent some time on the roof.

He'd spent a few of those _nights_ with her.

She chewed the inside of her lip. It was still new, this thing between them. _Brand_ new. But it was there, and there was no going back. There was no more pretending she didn't notice when he took the weight of the world on his shoulders.

So she pushed into the training room.

"Hey," she greeted as she strode across the room. "You feel like pounding something into the ground? You've got _me_ for that." She kicked her shoes off and went to stand on the sparring mat. "Now come on," she grinned a little, remembering a conversation that happened years ago now. "Let out some of that aggression. I can take it."

He stopped hitting the punching bag and turned to face her, eyebrow arching. She had no doubt he remembered that day on the roof just as well as she did.

"Not gonna lecture me about sparring when I've got a still healing bullet wound?" he asked curiously before tearing at the tape on his hands with his teeth, apparently not opposed to an opponent that hit back.

She arched an eyebrow.

"You need a nanny?" she asked.

He glared.

"No," then with a smirk, "I've got Phil for that."

"Then come on," she motioned him onto the mat. "Give it your best shot, Barton."

He shook his head and smiled.

"Throwing my own words in my face? You gonna give me a pep talk too?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm gonna give you a beating," she smiled sweetly. "Will that do?"

He chuckled, tossed away the last of the tape, and faced her on the mat. There was a gleam in his eyes she recognized all too well. She's seen it enough over their two years of partnership, after all.

"I'll take it," he stated.

Natasha felt her smile falter. That was the problem, wasn't it? He'd take a beating, with a _smile_ on his face, to make himself feel better. She sighed. She'd just have to use this opportunity to knock some sense into him.

She as prepared to pull her punches a little, deferring to the fact that he had a week old _bullet_ wound in his side. But she realized _very_ quickly, that he was in one of his _moods._ Not just a 'let someone kick my ass so I can feel better' moods, but a 'I'm gonna fight like a crazed animal because it _hurts_ so much' moods.

When he didn't even hesitate after cutting her cheek with a lightning quick cross, she knew she had to stop holding back. So she didn't.

He didn't exactly _shout_ in pain when she slammed him to the mat 3 minutes later, but the pitiful, forcefully muffled groan was impossible for her to ignore. So instead of bearing down with the knee she had on his sternum, she just rested there, keeping her weight on the knee she had on the mat next to his hip.

His eyes were closed, breathes panting – which told more of a story of how much he was still healing than words ever would.

"It's over, Clint," she whispered forcefully. "It's _over_."

"No," he shook his head, eyes still closed, "It's _not_ over. It can't be over."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because I can't _let_ it," his hissed, eyes flashing open to glare up at her.

"Why?" she asked again, voice firm, commanding.

"Because _somebody_ has to remember them," he snapped, shoving at her knee until she slid down to sit on the mat next to him. She watched him press a hand against his wounded side and stoically push himself up to sitting.

"Why does it have to be you?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, rubbed a hand over his eyes wearily, and sighed.

"Because nobody else will."

She shifted until her thigh was pressing against his.

"I will," she promised.

He met her gaze then and gave her a slight smile. Then it faded and he looked down at his hands where they rested in his lap.

"Sometimes…" he admitted quietly, "I wonder what the hell we're doing here. We did everything right." Something in his voice hardened, steeling itself against the breaking. "We did _everything_ the only way we could. And they _all_ still died…every _one_ of them."

Natasha drew in a slow breath. She shot a glance around, making sure nobody was lurking outside the door, then slid her hand across their touching legs, wrapping her hand around his.

"Sometimes we _lose_ , Clint. You know that. You can't carry the weight of every one of those losses. You _can't_. It will kill you."

He stared down at their joined hands silently, not bothering to respond. She knew him well enough to know that _wasn't_ agreement, it was a decision not to go to battle. She chewed the inside of her lip and changed tactics.

"Clint," she started slowly, "what kind of life do you think those kids had before we showed up?"

He shook his head.

"Phil already gave me that speech, Nat."

"Hear me out," she demanded. "Answer the question."

He sighed.

"Probably a pretty shitty one," he admitted.

"And then we showed up," she went on and he cut her off.

"And we gave them hope, I know, that's what Phil said."

" _Yes_ ," she ground her teeth together. He couldn't just make this _easy_. "We gave them hope. We _mattered_ to them, Clint. In a life that had been full of darkness and pain and fear, _we_ were the light." She squeezed the hand she had in hers. " _You_ mattered to them. You were a force for _good_ in their world where all they'd ever seen was _bad_."

She saw his brow furrow; a sign he was finally listening.

"So maybe we failed. Maybe we _lost_. But for _them_ , in that moment, we made a difference. _That_ 's what you do here, Clint. You're a force for good in a world of bad. A light in the darkness."

He was quiet for a moment, then his eyes slid up to meet hers.

"A light in the darkness? That was pretty cliché."

She grinned.

"It was _painfully_ cliché," she agreed. "Doesn't make it less true."

"So what?" he sighed, raising his gaze fully to meet hers. "We just take it on the chin and keep going?"

She nodded.

"Pretty much. We keep moving forward so we can matter to the _next_ person."

An impish twinkle lit his gaze.

"So we can be 'a force for good in a world of bad'? Be the 'light in the darkness'?" he set his voice deep and imperial and the sarcasm was laid on so thick it was impossible to miss.

She slammed her fist into his shoulder.

" _God_ , you are an _ass_."

He rubbed his arm like he was in pain.

"Yeah," a hesitant smirk turned up the corner of his mouth. "But I'm _your_ ass."

Natasha felt her own lips pull up into a smirk. He was testing the waters, experimenting with the new status quo between them. She let her smirk grow into a full smile and impulsively leaned in to kiss him.

"Yeah," she said when she pulled back. "And don't you forget it."


	17. No 7 - Clint has a good dream for once

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Hey there! Been a while since we've had a regular snapshot posting! :D sorry this is so late, but I bought a house this week and i've been busy busy busy!_

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clint has a good dream for once_

 _ **Submitted by:** Arlothia_

* * *

Clint woke to a small hand patting his face.

He growled low in his throat and without opening his eyes he lashed out, wrapping an arm around the small body standing tiptoed next to the bed and dragging it off its feet.

A high pitched giggle fit erupted next to his ear and he hadn't even _started_ the tickle attack yet.

"You know what happens when you wake up the tickle monster!" Clint threatened as he rolled over and pinned the small body onto the bed, fingers dancing over ribs mercilessly.

"No! I sowy! I sowwwyyy!" a tiny voice cried out through fits of laughter and Clint, after a moment more of torture, ceased his attack. He propped himself up on his elbow and watched the two and half year-old little boy next to him try to catch his breath.

"Phillip, did you wake up the tickle monster?" Natasha questioned with mock concern as she came out of the bathroom, one hand braced under her swollen belly as she climbed back into the bed with them.

Phillip nodded his blonde head fiercely, the last vestiges of a grin still displayed clearly on his face.

"Yeah, Phil here had instant regret about that, didn't he?" Clint teased, poking his son in the ribs and grinning at the short burst of laughter Phillip couldn't contain. The toddler rolled over and placed his small hands on either side of Clint's face.

"I won' never do it again, Daddy, pwomise."

Clint laughed.

"I'll believe that when I see it," he ruffled his son's shaggy blonde hair and then raised his eyes to wink at his wife over Phillip's head. "You were restless last night," he commented. He grunted as Phillip climbed over him to reach for the tv remote and elbowed him in the chest in the process. Then the little boy settled between them on the bed and started searching for cartoons.

"Yeah, your other spawn in here wants to be an acrobat apparently," Natasha joked even as she gently ran her hand over her belly. "And a pain in my ass just like his father."

"Hey!" Clint put a hand of mock offense over his heart. " _She'll_ probably come out wearing ballet slippers like her _mom_ and all that activity is her practicing her pirouettes."

"I can do a some'salt now, Daddy!" Phillip announced suddenly and then Clint was narrowly dodging a flying foot as his son demonstrated this newly mastered skill right there in the middle of the bed. Apparently the term 'acrobat' was now a trigger word.

Phillip, impressive flailing somersault now complete, twisted back around to give Clint a proud grin, eyebrows arched expectantly.

"10 points for style, kid," Clint praised, leaning forward and stretching out a hand. Phillip slapped his palm against Clint's with a large smile and then spun back to face the tv.

Clint settled back against the pillows and then rolled onto his side to meet Natasha's twinkling gaze.

He rested his hand on her rounded stomach and immediately felt a jab against his palm. His initial surprise faded into a chuckle.

"Oh yeah, definitely taking after her mom," he teased. "Hit first, ask questions later."

Natasha rolled her eyes and then let him pull her in for a lingering kiss.

When she pulled back, her green eyes settled on his and she smiled.

"Clint."

"What?"

Her gaze turned serious.

"Clint."

Clint frowned in vague confusion.

" _What_ , Tash?"

"Clint!" she shouted, eyes suddenly wide and worried.

* * *

"Clint!"

Clint jackknifed, coughing sharply and then dragging in a lung full of sour tasting air. He coughed it back out immediately, collapsing back onto the ground.

"You son of a bitch, don't _do_ that to me!" Natasha scolded firmly as she leaned over him, hair plastered to her head in wet waves and water dripping from her nose to land on his cheek.

Clint coughed again, water exploding out of his mouth as it was forcefully expelled from his lungs. After that he was able to pull in a proper breath and the fire in his chest started to fade.

Natasha's forehead dropped down to rest against his and he heard her mutter something in Russian that sounded suspiciously like 'thank God.' She lifted her head again almost immediately and helped pull him up to sitting.

"What happened?" he asked as a violent shiver racked his body. Her body convulsed identically and it sunk in how very _cold_ he was. Cold and wet. The last thing he remembered was fighting a giant on a bridge.

"The guy you were fighting pulled you over the bridge," she explained as she reached to help him slowly stand.

Clint heard it now, the river raging behind them. He glanced around, half expecting to see the other guy come lumbering towards them.

"Where is he?"

"You killed him. From what I saw, you managed to break his neck a few seconds after you guys hit the water."

Clint frowned. That didn't explain the apparent near drowning or why she was as wet as he was.

"The current slammed you into a rock, you hit your head."

 _That_ explained the sharp pain on his temple. He lifted his hand to touch the torn skin and Natasha batted the appendage back down.

"You jumped in after me?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

She nodded.

"Took me too long to get to you," she explained with a heavy note of self reproach in her tone.

"Hey," he had to cough again, a little more water spraying out onto his hand, "you _got_ me. Take it as a win."

"You were down for a long time," she pointed out sharply, a worried frown creasing her features. "You sure you're okay?"

He looked at her then, all wet hair and shivering frame. A vague memory of a different life, something like a dream but at the same time feeling more real than most dreams did, filtered through his mind.

A light hearted, high pitched giggle floated through the air around him and he had a sudden vision of a little blonde head with bright green eyes.

A different life. Or maybe the hope of a possible future.

"Clint?" Natasha prodded.

"I'm good," he promised, hooking an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. Together they started the long walk to shelter and hopefully a dry set of clothes. Hell, if he played his cards right he might even be able to convince Nat to let them warm _each other_ up.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_


	18. No 8 - Clint, Phil, and Nat and hostages

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Hey there!_

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;) This one will have 3 parts total! So yay!_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clint, Natasha, and Phil in a hostage situation_

 _ **Submitted by:** Romnovaa_

* * *

"Hey."

Clint jerked awake when a hand touched his elbow. He squinted towards the culprit and found Natasha twisted around in the front passenger seat, eyeing him skeptically.

"You look terrible," she commented idly.

Clint frowned at her and reached for the back of the seat to pull himself upright. His stomach did a somersault and he was forced to close his eyes and breath through his nose until the nausea faded.

"Are you okay?" Phil had twisted in the driver's seat now and was eyeing him in concern.

Clint decided to just blow right past that question, because no honest answer would be productive. Instead, he kept breathing and once he was reasonably certain that he had his rolling stomach under control, he glanced at them.

"Where are we?" he asked, voice rough with sleep.

"A 7/11 somewhere in Texas," Phil replied.

Clint rubbed wearily at his eyes, wishing he could banish the lingering headache.

"Why are we stopping?" He leaned forward to look out the rear passenger window at the mini-mart.

"Gas," Phil replied. "Figured we could all use the pit stop too," he went on.

Clint inclined his head. Now that he thought about it, he could use a bathroom break. His stomach twisted…and a puke break.

As a unit, they all climbed out of the four door sedan they'd been issued. A highly sensitive undercover operation in Mexico demanded they arrive under the radar. That meant no airports and no flashy SUV's.

It wouldn't have been so bad, Clint didn't mind road trips, but he'd paid a last minute trip to the boy's home in Brooklyn the day before they left. Twelve hours into their drive, he'd gotten achy. Then the fever had set in, along with a wicked bout of nausea and all the other crap that came with the flu.

Usually, Clint's immune system was rock solid. But he'd been coming off a nasty series of nightmares over the days leading up to their trip and sleep had been in short supply. Put that with the natural germ hotels kids tended to be, and Edith's comment that there was a flu going around the local elementary school, and he hadn't stood a chance.

It was too soon to know if Natasha and Phil were going to come down with it too. But for their sake, and the mission's, he hoped they didn't.

Phil led the way into the convenience store, and Clint made a beeline for the bathroom. He could already feel what little food he'd managed to eat this morning making an effort to reappear.

He shouldered by a guy coming out and offered a vague apology as he shut the door behind him and flipped the lock.

He barely made it to the toilet in time and by the time he was done he felt weak and shaky.

He used the edge of the sink to pull himself up and spent the next few minutes rinsing out his mouth and splashing cold water on his face.

It wasn't until he turned off the water and reached to snag a few paper towels that he realized Phil hadn't knocked on the door demanding to know if he was okay. The mother-hen of a handler couldn't help but worry himself to distraction over Clint's wellbeing.

Clint tossed his wadded paper towels into the trash without looking and moved for the door. He had his hand on the doorknob when he heard it – a voice echoing from the main area of the store.

 _"Don't get any funny ideas, sweetheart."_

Clint frowned, something about the way the man spoke setting him on edge.

 _"Now, be a good girl and empty the register. Nobody does anything stupid and we all go home happy."_

Clint's hand tightened around the doorknob.

What were the _fucking_ odds? A robbery? A goddamned _robbery_ in the random 'somewhere in Texas' 7/11 that they'd stopped at.

His hand brushed across his lower back, but there was no weapon to grab. He thought of his knife and gun, both safely tucked under the seat in the car. He hadn't even thought of them when he got out of the car, his head had been too fuzzy, his stomach too rebellious.

Clenching his jaw, he carefully flipped the lock on the door, wincing when the sound seemed to echo in the room around him. He froze, waiting to hear if the sound had given him away. But there didn't seem to be a reaction out in the store. Licking his lips and drawing in a deep breath to try and quiet his twisting stomach, Clint eased the door silently open.

He only opened it an inch, just enough to try and get eyes on what was going on.

He could see Natasha. She was the slowly emptying the cash out of the register into a plastic bag. Her expression was painted in fear and panic. Good. She'd be able to take the guy by surprise if necessary. He could see Phil's back, just outside the hallway that led to the bathroom. He must have been headed back to check on him when the guy made his move.

There were a few civilians huddled together near the counter, a family by the looks of it, the youngest a girl of maybe six.

Then there was the perp. Average height, average build…gun in hand.

Clint frowned. It was the guy he'd shoulder checked heading into the bathroom.

How had he _missed_ him? Why the hell hadn't his instincts picked up on the threat?

His stomach rolled, reminding him that his senses weren't in top form and at the time he'd been mostly focused on not puking until he got to the toilet.

He saw two other guys, also toting guns, at the door.

Great. The three stooges.

Natasha shifted, gaze flitting over to meet his, an acknowledgment that she knew he was there, that he was watching. The eye contact only lasted a breath, but it was enough to put them on the same page.

The best thing they could do was just wait it out, let these guys go with their money. It was better than risking the civilian family getting hurt.

Natasha was just putting the last of the cash in the bag when flashing lights suddenly lit up the front window and a siren made the perps and the terrified family jump. Natasha's gaze dropped down to something on the floor next to her.

Probably the clerk. The guy – Clint only vaguely remembered him from when he'd blown past the counter – must have gotten a call out to 911. If he'd been working here long enough, he might have even recognized the signs of an impending robbery and made the call before the perp ever made his move.

And if he was on the floor, then he'd paid a price for his forethought.

Clint watched the man with the gun – Mo, and the other two were Larry and Curly, he decided – tense as a police car rolled to a stop outside. They must have already been close, to have made it here this fast.

Then Mo's expression shifted into a mixture of anger and resignation.

"Looks like we're going to get to know each other a little better," he snarled. "Block the door," he ordered his fellow stooges.

Clint eased the door closed and leaned his feverish head against it.

A hostage situation.

What were the fucking odds?

* * *

 _To be continued_


	19. No 8 (part 2) - Hostage Situation

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Hey there! Here's part 2 to last week's snapshot! I've got some fun AU ideas tumbling around in my head too so we might get one of those soon and probably an actual VPU-canon one-shot soon too :)_

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;) This one will have 3 parts total! So yay!_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clint, Natasha, and Phil in a hostage situation_

 _ **Submitted by:** Romnovaa_

* * *

Natasha held her hands up, being sure to show a tremble in them, and let the asshole hostage taker escort her towards the rest of the group. She shared a glance with Phil and then slid a subtle look towards the bathroom. The door was closed.

"Hey," Asshole #1 nodded towards #2. "There's a guy in the bathroom, go get him."

#2 nodded and jogged back towards the bathroom. Natasha shared another glance with Phil. It was a silent question – should they make a move? – but he shook his head slightly. There were too many guns and too many civilians at the moment. They'd have to bide their time.

#2 tried the door, found it locked, and glanced back at his co-conspirator.

"Keys," he held up a waiting hand.

#1 rounded the counter and fished a set of keys out of the unconscious clerk's pocket and tossed them to his buddy.

The guy fumbled the catch a little, but didn't drop the keys. A moment later he was pushing the door open. They watched him disappear inside and then reappear a moment later.

"There's no one here," he said.

 _That_ got Asshole #1 all hot and bothered.

"I _saw_ him go in there!" he argued, stomping back to the bathroom and shoved past his partner into the bathroom. He came back out a moment later. "Where the hell did he go?"

Natasha felt a slight smirk quirk her lips and let her eyes stray up, to the ceiling. It was made of vaguely flimsy rectangular tiles. It wouldn't hold his weight directly, but if he moved carefully, kept his weight distributed, Clint could move around up there. She brought her gaze back down and watched Assholes #1 and #2 come back to the main area.

"What are they doing?" #1 snapped at #3, who hadn't moved from his sentry at the door.

There were two police cars now, and the lights of a third in the distance.

#3 surveyed the scene with a practiced eye, speaking to training of some sort. Ex-military maybe.

"Two squad cars, a third incoming."

The phone on the counter started ringing.

#1 moved immediately to pick it up.

"Pull everyone back. We'll walk out of here with three hostages and once I know we haven't been followed, we'll let the hostages go, unharmed."

Natasha resisted the urge to quirk a curious eyebrow. This guy was calm and cool, seemed self-assured in his current situation. He definitely had training too; she could tell that by the way he moved. Of course, that begged the question of why in the hell these guys were knocking over convenience stores.

Whatever the response to his demand was, he didn't seem pleased.

She shared a glance with Phil. They needed to do something. Just letting these guys walk out wasn't an option, they needed to stop them. They couldn't risk them taking any of the civilians as hostages. He nodded slightly, eyes going up to a particular spot in the ceiling. She glanced up quickly, saw the tile bend a little and then straighten. Clint.

Clint would be their secret weapon, provided he could stay conscious. He'd been looking pretty rough when he'd made a run for the bathroom earlier. But if he had the presence of mind to go up into the ceiling, then hopefully he had it in him to help them out here.

#1 slammed the phone down and whirled to face them.

"The guy in the bathroom, where the hell is he?" he demanded of no one in particular.

Natasha stared blankly, best to pretend she didn't even know who he was talking about.

"He didn't just _vanish_. There's no exit back there, he couldn't have…" the guy trailed off, a slight frown turning down the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he raised his head, looking to the ceiling.

Natasha cursed in her head, loudly and in several languages. Why couldn't this just be easy, just this once?

"I know you're up there," #1 announced.

Natasha glanced at Phil, he shook his head slightly. Not yet. #2 was had his gun trained on them and the civilians, moving now would be too much of a risk.

"You think he's in the ceiling?" #2 asked curiously.

"Oh, I know he is," #1 replied, leaning closer to his friend and lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper. "Go, he probably used the sink as a boost."

#2 nodded and moved silently away. He probably thought that with his training, Clint would be easy pickings.

Natasha glanced at Phil again. Another shake of the head. Clint could take care of himself.

"What are we going to do?" #3 asked from the door.

"We're going to stay calm," #1 replied sharply. "You just keep your eyes on the cops."

Then he rounded the counter again and roughly nudged the clerk with his boot.

"Hey," he called. "Wake up."

When that garnered no response, he leaned over and slapped the man hard across the face. _That_ had the poor guy sputtering and groaning his way to consciousness.

"Where is it?" #1 demanded lowly, pressing the muzzle of his gun against the mans' knee cap.

Natasha arched a curious eyebrow. Not just a simple heist then. She couldn't see the clerk's face from where she was, but judging by #1's response, it wasn't overwhelming agreement. She heard the quiet rapport of a silenced gunshot and then a muffled scream.

The little girl huddled in her father's arms started crying and the mother tightened her arms around her son.

Natasha shared another glance with Phil, but his gaze was fixed up on the ceiling.

Asshole #2 had gone looking for Clint only a minute or two ago. Natasha imagined they'd hear the sounds of an altercation any moment now. But instead, there was silence.

"Where is it!" Asshole #1's harsh growl had her attention shifting back to him and the clerk.

"They'll kill me," the clerk pleaded.

" _I'll_ kill you!"

She saw #1 shift and then there was another muffled cry of pain.

"In the corner," the clerk finally gasped. "It's under the floor in that corner."

The clerk must have indicated a specific location because Asshole #1 was suddenly moving. The butt of his gun knocked the clerk back out and he was suddenly crouched at the far corner behind the counter.

"It's here," he announced a moment later.

Asshole #3 let out a relieved sigh by the door.

"Cops are still a problem," he commented.

"It'll be fine," #1 replied as he suddenly stood, hefting a small safe up onto the counter. "I planned for this."

A slight shift in the tile above Asshole #1 had her eyes moving up in time to see the tile shift away completely.

"Did you plan for _this,_ Ass Face?"

Then there was a body falling from the ceiling.

* * *

 _To be concluded..._

 _Ps, those of you that have had trouble with reviews posting, should be in the clear now. When I removed the AU chapters of this to create their own fic, it caused a problem, but we should be past that point now :) So, if you'd be so kind as to drop me a line, I'd greatly appreciate it ;)_


	20. No 8 (part 3) - Hostage Situation

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Hey all! So sorry I didn't get this to you last week! I've recently been completely distracted - obsessively almost - by the BBC show The Musketeers. I had a story idea with THAT that refused to leave me in peace. So rather than half-heartedly force myself to write distractedly on my current VPU projects, I allowed myself to indulge my muse. Well, my muse has inspired me to what is shaping up to be a 50K+ word fic within The Musketeers fandom._

 _Hopefully you all will allow me this indulgence. I've not strayed from the VPU in, what?, four years now? If you are interested in this Musketeers fic, I've not been able to STOP myself from working on it (and my sleeping pattern hates me for it) and hope to have it finished by the end of the week. I will understand if you don't care about it, lol, you're here for Avengers *coughHawkeyecough* stuff, but I think you might still find it an enjoyable read._

 _But enough about that. Here is Part 3 (also the last part) of the hostage situation ficlet series. This one is in Phil's POV, as the previous two covered Clint and then Nat. Enjoy!_

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words. They get posted on tumblr first, so if you're impatient, go check that out ;)_

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clint, Natasha, and Phil in a hostage situation_

 _ **Submitted by:** Romnovaa_

* * *

"It'll be fine." Phil eyed the small safe warily as the leader of the hostiles hefted it onto the counter. "I planned for this," the man stated confidently.

They'd stumbled into something here, something bigger than it had originally seemed. This was no simple robbery. The clerk had spoken of a 'they'. He'd feared punishment from whoever 'they' were.

Phil considered their location. They weren't far from the Mexican border. It could be something to do with the very cartel they were headed to Mexico to dismantle. This group wasn't exactly a big player, but they had started causing some serious waves just south of the border and the bleed over into Texas had started to draw attention. SHIELD had hoped Clint and Natasha could get in there and put a stop to it before things got any messier.

Then Clint had come down with the flu.

Then they'd gotten caught up in a robbery that was much more than a simple robbery.

Then that robbery had turned into a hostage situation.

Why was it that nothing in their lives could ever just be _simple_?

Phil glanced at the ceiling, saw a tile shift, and held his breath.

He didn't bother trying to hold back his smirk as a familiar, though vaguely strained, voice drew the leader's attention upward.

"Did you plan for _this,_ Ass Face?"

Then a body came tumbling through the opening, landing hard on the counter and sending the leader stumbling back in shock.

The second hostile, over by the door, angled his gun up and started firing on instinct.

But Clint wasn't in the ceiling anymore.

No sooner had the other body – Phil recognized him as the guy that had been sent to seek Clint out – landed, then Clint was flipping out after it. He swung his body towards the leader, boot kicking away the gun the man was trying to bring to bear.

Phil stood, hustling the family next to him back, away from the fight even as Natasha sprinted across the store towards the man at the door. She slid like a baseball player, avoiding the wild shots the man tried to aim at her.

Phil lost sight of her as he pushed the family back to the far corner of the store.

"Stay down," he advised firmly. The sounds of continued battle at the front had him turning and making his way back towards his agents.

He saw Clint again first.

The archer was on his back on the counter, the body that had previously been there now sprawled on the floor. Clint and the leader were locked in vicious struggle. The leader had his hand around Clint's throat, pressing him down onto the counter. But Clint, for his part, had his legs wrapped around the other man's throat, ankles locked together and muscles obviously straining against the weakness his sickness was causing. One hand was locked around his enemy's wrist, trying to pry the hand off his throat. The other hand was wrapped around the man's _other_ wrist, thereby fending off the combat knife the leader was brandishing. Even as Phil watched, Clint's opponent, stepped back, dragging Clint off the counter. He twisted, swinging Clint's body hard into the cash register. He heard Clint grunt, but it seemed the sound was born more of annoyance than pain because his hold on the man didn't falter.

Clint's hand around the other man's wrist, the one wielding the knife, tightened and then sharply twisted. Phil heard bones break and the knife clattered to the floor. Then Clint's body contracted, muscles straining and Phil saw the other man's face go beat read. His throat, still trapped between Clint's legs, was being crushed.

Phil watched the man falter and then go to his knees, Clint's hold unrelenting. Certain the archer had his hostile well in hand, Phil looked for Natasha.

She was already pushing herself to standing, brushing dirt off her pants and giving the body at her feet an annoyed nudge with her boot.

"You good?" Phil asked.

She gave him a curt nod and started towards him, eyes shifting to Clint as he finally kicked his way free of his opponent and dragged himself to standing. He leaned heavily against the counter, looking pale and nauseated.

"Of all the 7/11's in all the world," Clint muttered, dropping his head onto his arms where they were crossed on the counter, "we walk into _this_ one."

"You okay?" Phil asked in concern.

Clint didn't raise his head, but he did shift a hand, giving Phil an 'ok' symbol with his fingers.

"We should go," Natasha whispered, shooting a look over Phil's shoulder at the cowering family. "Before the cops come in."

Phil nodded sharply.

"Get him out the back," he motioned at Clint, "when the officers come in the front, circle around to the car. Go now," he instructed. Natasha nodded, braced a hand on the countertop and jumped, clearing the counter and landing lightly next to Clint. Phil didn't wait to watch her pull the archer towards the back of the store, instead, he headed to the family.

"Everybody okay?" he asked. He got a group of wary and slightly awed nods. "The police are going to ask you what happened here. Just tell them the truth."

"But what _did_ happen here?" the father of the family asked. "Who _are_ you people?"

Phil just smiled and slid his sunglasses on.

"Just a few good Samaritans," he replied. He turned without another word, moving quickly towards the hallway that would lead to the rear exit. A few minutes later, he and his agents were sliding into their car while they police stormed into the building.

Phil eyed the small safe on the floorboards between Natasha's feet. She was currently absorbed in breaking into it.

He met Clint's gaze in the rearview mirror.

"You took the safe?" Because somehow he _knew_ the theft had been Clint's idea.

"Figured it might belong to someone important," Clint shrugged a shoulder and then slid down, sprawling out across the back seat with a groan.

Natasha triumphantly smiled and opened the safe's door.

"I think we just found our angle on Sanchez," she grinned, holding up several stacks of neatly bound cash. "Even if it isn't his, it'll get his attention."

"Nicely done," Phil praised.

"You're welcome," Clint piped up from the back seat, before groaning and throwing an arm over his eyes. "Puking my guts up and dying and I _still_ end up doing all the work."

"Hey," Natasha protested. "I took one of them."

Phil smiled as he listened to them start to bicker about whether Natasha's kill even really counted considering Clint had provided the distraction she needed to make her move. He checked his watch, planning how far they should go before stopping again.

A light on the dashboard caught his attention.

The gas light. The whole reason they'd stopped in the first place.

Well _shit_.

Never the easy way.

* * *

 _Who knows at this point if the reviews will work for you guys lol. This story has been giving me some serious trouble about that. Give it a shot if you would ;)_

 _I will endeavor to have an actual VPU-canon one shot for you guys next week! So keep an eye out for that!_


	21. No 9 - Clint and American Ninja Warrior

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Hey all! Here's another snapshot for your reading pleasure! I've caught you guys up to what I'm posting on tumblr, for my own sake honestly. Keeping track of who had seen what was driving me crazy._

 _Anyway, I got this prompt a while back and have recently become super into the show American Ninja Warrior, so here we are. This idea will likely get expanded on and retrofitted into an actual oneshot one day, because it falls in line with the Many Happy Returns series. So yeah. Anyway, enjoy!_

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words._

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** Clint and American Ninja Warrior_

 _ **Submitted by:** Imherethephantom (don't know your name here luv)_

* * *

It had become an obsession throughout the tower.

Every Tuesday night, popcorn was popped, beers were thrown on ice, and pizza was picked up. And when 8pm rolled around, there was only one place to find the team. The home theater room watching…

American Ninja Warrior.

Bruce was fascinated by the physics of it. He liked to theorize how the competitors should tackle each obstacle, from a physics standpoint, as soon as the course was reviewed.

Steve tended to twitch around in his seat, as if he were running the course in his mind.

Pepper's favorite part was when someone wiped out. She'd cup her hands around her mouth and yell 'FAIL!' any time someone fell. But she also tended to get weepy when the more emotional back stories were revealed.

Thor, when he was there, took incredible pleasure in the moment of victory when that final buzzer was hit. If he was feeling particularly enthusiastic, he would throw his hands up and cheer.

Tony, he couldn't help but throw out obstacle ideas of his own. He tended to have his tablet in hand and would sketch out his own ideas, or improvements for the show's ideas, during commercial breaks.

But Clint and Natasha? They just watched. Occasionally they'd whisper something back and forth, chuckle smugly and go back to watching. Clint, always, watched with a hungry light in his eyes.

The idea came to Tony when he and the others were throwing around ideas for Clint's birthday – which he always told them not to make a big deal of and of which they always made a big deal. It had happened to be a Tuesday, as they sat around discussing possibilities. Clint and Steve had gone to get the pizza so they could plan without worry of discovery.

They'd been stumped, though, until Clint got back and Tony saw that hungry, challenging spark in Clint's eyes.

All at once, he'd known what to do for Clint's birthday.

* * *

"Was a blindfold _really_ necessary?" Clint grumbled, keeping a wary hand stretched out ahead of him even though Tony was leading him by the elbow. Tony had huffed something about _trust_ , and then promptly – accidentally he claimed – run Clint into a door frame.

"Would you have kept your eyes closed if I'd asked you to?" Tony shot back.

Clint feigned being horribly offended.

"Of _course_ I would have."

He didn't have to see his best friend to know Tony was rolling his eyes.

"Liar."

Clint smirked.

"And you accused _me_ of lacking trust," he teased.

His fingers brushed another door frame a moment before he would have walked into it. He turned, glaring at where he was fairly certain his friend was.

"Huh," Tony muttered. "Even with a blindfold that was chilling."

Clint smirked.

"Here we are!" Tony announced as they made it through the door with only a slight banging of his elbow. Without any warning, the blindfold was stripped away.

Clint blinked rapidly into the bright, artificial light of one of the tower's lower levels.

The rest of the team was standing in front of him, gleeful smiles on their faces and Steve was holding a birthday cake.

The cake had a ninja wearing purple drawn on it.

Every one of them was wearing a black t-shirt with the same ninja on it and the words "HawkNinja" printed above the figure.

Clint narrowed his eyes and glanced around.

He felt his jaw actually go slack at what he saw.

It was a ninja warrior course, _in_ the tower. It was complete with the elevated obstacles and the pools of water beneath for safety. It was longer than the usual courses from the show, containing more obstacles. It snaked around the room, ending with the famed warped wall.

"Holy shit."

"Articulate as always," Bruce teased where he stood with the others.

"How did you _do_ this without me knowing?" Clint asked as he wandered forward.

"Come on, after all this time, you think we haven't learned how to put one past you?" Tony grinned. Clint turned, arching an eyebrow at the group of them.

"Natasha ran interference," Pepper confessed.

Clint cast his gaze on his partner and shook his head with a laugh.

"I thought you'd been a little extra frisky lately," he smirked.

She glared and next to her Steve blushed. Stars and Stripes never could quite keep a lid on his good ol' boy propriety.

The Captain cleared his throat and handed the cake off to Thor, who eyed it gleefully.

"We know you could never compete on the actual show…"

"Because you'd destroy all their records," Tony put in.

"Because of _the publicity_ ," Steve finished, as if Tony hadn't spoken. "So we figured we'd bring the show to you. It was Tony's idea. He and Bruce designed the course and Thor and I helped them build it."

"I did the t-shirts," Pepper announced. "Your own cheering section just like in the show."

"And you?" Clint eyed Natasha, "what was your part in this."

Her eyebrow quirked in such a way that he felt heat rush through his body.

"I ran _interference_ ," she replied with a wicked smirk.

"God, you two, do I need to hose you down?" Tony huffed.

"Come now, Clint," Thor encouraged, "display your skill!"

Clint found himself smiling – a confident, cool smile, definitely _not_ a gleeful, childlike one – and kicking off his shoes. The group followed him to the starting point and he stripped off his t-shirt.

Tony cat-called him, earning the man a baleful glare. Tony, of course, just started humming a stripper tune.

Clint rolled his eyes and trotted up the steps to the starting point.

"We designed most of these ourselves," Bruce announced. "But you'll find some of the traditional obstacles too."

Clint scanned the course with his eyes, taking a moment to stretch his muscles and warm up.

"Gonna time me?" Clint asked.

Pepper held up the stopwatch she already had in hand.

"Ready?" Tony asked.

Clint nodded.

It was Thor who enthusiastically shouted,

"GO!"

He was aware of them, as he moved through the course. They ran as a group along with him, cheering and whooping like idiots. Thor had jogged ahead, putting the cake on a table near the finish before returning to join the team.

Clint had always loved stuff like this. He felt like he was breaking the laws of nature, of physics. This was a bit less freeing than parkour, because there was a certain way he had to progress through each section instead of just being able to run freely.

But _God,_ he felt so damn _alive_.

By the time he was doing a showy front tuck flip off the second to last obstacle, the team was in near hysterics.

He barely paused as he ran at the warped wall, bare feet digging into the curved surface as he scaled it.

His hands caught the ledge and he pulled, then folded his body, then straightened his toes towards the ceiling. Brit and Kara would have been proud – it was one of the most form perfect handstands he'd ever done.

"Showoff!" Tony accused, but he was smiling widely.

"Just wait," Natasha laughed knowingly.

Clint smirked. She knew him too damn well.

He abruptly folded his body down, bracing his feet between his hands. Then he exploded up and backwards, tucking into a tight, spinning ball.

From a height like that, landing on a hard surface, he couldn't stick the landing without risking _breaking_ something. So as soon as his feet touched down, he let himself roll back over his shoulders, pushing his hands off the ground to explode into the air. Even so, he still had to take a few stuttering steps to slow his momentum.

The team was going crazy.

Natasha reached him first, wrapping herself around him and planting an unexpectedly enthusiastic kiss on his mouth. He laughed, surprised by the open show of affection, but he supposed she'd just gotten caught up in the moment.

Thor, loudest of all, got to him next. He hoisted Clint up onto his shoulder as if he were a trophy and cheered loudly.

Clint, vaguely startled, but mostly amused, allowed it.

When they finally started to settle down, Pepper happily announced his time.

6 minutes 17 seconds.

Clint smirked.

"I can beat that."

* * *

 _Done. ;) Hope you enjoyed it! You all know how much I love to hear from you, so scoot on down to that review box and drop me a line!_


	22. No 10 - Team Afraid of Clint - Tony

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

 _Author's Note: While I embrace_ ** _constructive_** _criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

 _Hey all! So guess what, I'm still alive! As many of you know, my husband has been away on a deployment for the US Navy. Well, a little over a week and a half ago he got home! So I've been thoroughly distracted spending time with him! and before that, preparing for his homecoming! Anyway, I got this prompt through tumblr a while back and jotted down this little snapshot in response. This may end up being a multi-parter but I'm not sure yet. We'll see what you guys think first._

 _This is another addition to this collection of ficlets, all based on prompts I received through my tumblr - aggie2011whoop - and all around 1000 words._

 _Btw: this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine!_

* * *

 _ **Prompt:** The team, one or all, are afraid of Clint (not FOR Clint, OF Clint cuz he's a bamf assassin)_

 _ **Submitted by:** anonymous _

* * *

Tony knew who his best friend was.

He did.

He knew Clint better than most could ever hope to claim. Not better than Natasha, of course. And not in the same way as Steve, who connected with Clint about what happened with Coulson better than Tony ever could. Shared experience and all that.

But he knew him.

He knew that Clint was a warrior. He was strong and fierce and brave. He knew Clint had a wicked sense of humor and a stubborn streak that rivaled Tony's own. He knew that Clint could go from warm and joking to deadly and cold in a second flat. He knew that Clint's skill in hand to hand combat was surpassed by none but Natasha's and his aim with, well _anything_ , was surpassed by none.

He knew that sarcastic insults equated to terms of endearment. He knew that Clint rarely slept well and that for some reason hanging out with Tony in the lab at odd hours of the night seemed to be calming for him. He knew that despite his sometimes dark profession, Clint was a good man – one of the best Tony had ever known. He knew that Clint was never certain of his place on the Avengers, that he was always waiting for the day they didn't need or want him anymore. He knew that Clint had self-worth issues that would never go away.

He knew him.

He was his best friend.

But Tony also knew that there were parts of Clint he didn't know. He knew there were parts of himself that he never let them see.

Those were the terrifying parts. The parts Tony pretended didn't exist. The parts that made Clint capable of cold blooded, calculated murder when his orders dictated it.

Tony had never seen that part of his best friend.

Until today.

He'd seen Clint fight before. He'd even seen Clint kill before. But there was, Tony realized now, a very distinct difference between self-defense and assassination. He'd never quite appreciated that difference until today.

Clint and Natasha, as usual, had been given their own set of orders when the group left to flush out a group of arms dealers in Southern Mexico. Steve's job had been containment, keeping anyone from getting away. Bruce was waiting back by the jet, only to be called in for an emergency. Tony had been tasked with getting control of the weapons cache. Clint was supposed to help him, but Clint had other orders, orders from higher up than Steve.

The archer had shared a look with Natasha and then taken off deeper into the compound. The Black Widow had then joined Tony in the battle to get control of the weapons locker.

Tony hadn't really thought twice about getting JARVIS to tap into the warehouse's security system and get him eyes on Clint. It was instinct to watch the team's back now, after all.

He'd watched, through his view in his helmet, as Clint had crept through the compound, pausing at a locked door. JARVIS, at Tony's command, had shown him what waited behind it. A team full of men with automatic weapons.

Tony had taken off to save his friend without a second thought, ignoring Natasha and Steve's shouts to stand down.

He'd arrived at the room expecting to see Clint locked in a heated battle.

Instead, he'd found a room full of dead men and Clint holding a final man against the wall, a wicked looking knife digging into the man's throat.

Clint was speaking in rapid, heated Spanish and the man he held captive was sputtering back responses.

Then, as Tony watched, Clint twitched the knife, laying open the man's throat and leaving his body to drop to the ground.

Clint turned.

Tony stepped back.

He knew Clint Barton. He knew his friend.

But that man looking back at him with cold, hard blue gray eyes and an expression made of stone was not Clint Barton. This stranger staring at him wasn't his friend. He was a killer, through and through.

He was fucking terrifying.

Clint stepped forward, reaching out a hand.

Tony was reeling. He was in shock. He was surrounded by dead men. Men that Clint had _killed_. Men he had sought out _to_ kill.

Tony couldn't help it.

He stepped back again, away from his friend, away from his bloody hands.

Clint's eyes widened and for a fleeting moment he looked like _he'd_ been the one to have a knife dragged across his throat. Then he dropped his hand and his expression shuttered.

"We need to go," Clint announced, circling around the table in the center of the room, keeping it between them as he moved for the door.

"What did you do?" Tony asked in a horrified whisper, looking around at the room full of dead men.

Clint paused at the door but didn't look back. His shoulders heaved with a sigh and then he continued on without answering. Tony was left with no choice but to follow.

* * *

He managed to avoid Clint, or maybe _Clint_ was avoiding _him_ , until two days after they got back to New York. And even then, it was Natasha that sought him out.

Tony was make a calibration adjustment on the suit when she stormed into the lab with fire in her expression and murder in her eyes. Instinctively, Tony shifted so there was a table between them.

"You need to talk to him," she ordered without preamble.

There was really no need for clarification.

"Maybe _he_ needs to come talk to me," Tony shot back.

Natasha glared at him.

"He thinks you hate him. He thinks you're _afraid_ of him."

Tony stared at her. He didn't hate Clint, not even a little. But…

"Oh my God," she sighed. "You _are_."

"I'm not," Tony defended. He wasn't. He knew Clint would never hurt him. He knew that. But for some reason, the thought of being in the same room as the man had him breaking out in a cold sweat.

"Tony," Natasha started slowly, "he told me what you saw. It was his _job_. Fury sent him in there with orders. Just like he sent me to download their client list before we destroyed it."

"I know that," Tony insisted.

"Then _what_ is it?" she snapped. She was a fierce lioness when it came to Clint. She protected her mate with claws and sharp teeth when she had to.

"I've never seen him like that," Tony admitted. "It's like he wasn't even _there_. That guy I saw, slitting some stranger's throat, that wasn't Clint."

"It was," Natasha argued. "It's his _job_ , Tony."

"No," Tony disagreed. "It wasn't _him_. I _know_ him. I know my best friend and _that wasn't him_."

Natasha looked torn between being pissed off and sympathetic.

"It was him, Tony," she repeated firmly. "And you need to wrap your head around it. He beats himself up _enough_ for this job without you making him feel worse."

Tony blinked at her.

"What?" she challenged. "Did you think it was _easy_ for him? You think it's as easy as flipping a switch? He's not some cold blooded killer, Tony. He _feels_ it every time. But he does it because someone has to. He does it so other people _don't_ have to. He has this mental headspace he goes to in order to get it done but it's still _him_. He's still in control. He's still _Clint_. And he would never hurt you or anybody else that didn't deserve it."

Tony stared at her.

 _He's still Clint._

If that was true, then it had been _Clint_ he'd backed away from. Clint he'd treated like a threat. Clint he'd looked at like he was a murder.

" _What did you do?_ " he'd asked. Like Clint had busted in there and murdered everyone on a whim. Clint hadn't even defended himself. He'd just taken the judgement like it was deserved.

 _He beats himself up enough for this job without you making him feel worse._

It had been Clint, who took everything to heart. Who took his own measure and always found himself lacking. Clint who was always inclined to believe the worst about himself because he didn't know how to see anything but his failures.

God, Tony was such an ass.

He left the room without another glance at Natasha.

"He's on the roof!" she called after him.

She needn't have bothered.

Tony knew Clint.

* * *

 _So obviously, this chapter was about Tony. But the door is open for me to explore this same idea with the other members of the team. Because as much as they KNOW Clint and he fights with them as the Avengers in the VPU. They really HAVEN'T seen this side of him. And knowing someone is an assassin for SHIELD is very different from actually witnessing them assassinate. And of course Tony gets over it. But it would be a shock, that first time, to see someone you know and care about commit cold blooded murder. Because make no mistake, Clint went into that room intent on killing every one in it. It wasn't self defense. It was a mission. And in this case, that mission was murder. It's murder for the greater good, but still murder._

 _Anyway, let me know what you thought and if you want to see the rest of the team's "afraid of clint" in some way. I'm currently experimenting in another fandom as well, so if you get an alert in the future for something NOT Avengers don't abandon me. I'm still writing the VPU, just spreading my wings a bit :)_

 _Love you guys!_


	23. No 11 - Phil gets Clint from hospital

_Hey there! A new snapshot! Whoa, been a while! haha. So this one is for my beta_ **Kylen** _. She said she wanted this one and I felt the inspiration so here we are. It's unbeta'd and just for fun. Enjoy! PS I'm working on the next part for the Bouclier Academy AU AND hopefully getting the last part of Not So Easily Defined out in time for V Day._

* * *

 ** _Prompt:_** _Phil has to pick up Clint from a civilian hospital after a motorcycle accident._

 _ **Submitted by:**_ _Kylen_

* * *

Phil slowly turned the page of the file he was reading, even as he finished running his eyes over the last sentence. He continued on to the next page, brows drawing together and eyes narrowing as he came across a new name. He shifted his attention to a second file, sitting next to him on his bed, and ran his finger down the text until he found the matching name.

"Got you, you little bastard," he murmured to himself, pleased that he'd found the corroborating evidence needed to present this mission to Fury. He was so caught up in his small victory that he almost didn't notice his phone vibrating on the bed next to him. He'd had the sound turned off during his last meeting of the day and had neglected to turn it back on.

He noticed the lit screen just as it clicked over to voicemail. Frowning because the short glimpse he'd gotten of the number hadn't seemed familiar, he reached for the device just as it started buzzing again.

He touched the screen to answer and brought it to his ear.

"This is Coulson."

" _Phil."_

Phil's eyebrows rocketed up in surprise.

"Clint?"

A glance at his watch showed the time at just past 2 in the morning. Last he'd known, Clint had been doing a session in the combat archery range with the intent of hitting the rack soon after. That was four hours ago.

"Where are you?" Phil demanded, an instinct – well-honed after all the years they'd worked together – flaring in warning.

" _I need you to not freak out."_ Clint sounded almost normal. To anyone else he probably sounded completely fine. But Phil was well practiced in deciphering everything Clint managed to hide from everyone else.

There was pain in Clint's voice. It was well hidden, frustratingly well in fact, but it was there. It lingered just below the calm, almost lazy, way Clint was speaking.

"Clint," Phil ground out, reaching for his own calm center and for the his well renowned patience that always seemed fleeting when Clint was injured. " _Where_ are you?"

A fraction of hesitation.

A moment where Clint was likely deciding whether it was worth it to lie.

Then,

" _A hospital."_

There was a moment of blinding, muscle seizing panic at those words and Phil forgot how to breath.

" _Phil, I told you not to freak out. I'm obviously fine enough to be calling myself so calm the hell down and stop panicking. I can hear you_ _ **not**_ _breathing."_

Until he had visual confirmation of Clint's claim of 'fine', Phil would withhold judgument on the matter. But he was able to force himself to breath and beat the panic back into submission.

"Where?" he asked, climbing off the bed and reaching for his shoes.

" _I just told you…"_

"Not…" Phil sighed and rubbed at the rapidly manifesting ache in his temple, " _what_ hospital, Clint?"

" _Oh_. _"_ Clint sounded so _unaffected_ my his own misunderstanding of the question that Phil paused. Clint was sharp and he was perceptive as hell. He rarely _truly_ misunderstood anything.

"Are you concussed?" Phil asked as he moved faster to gather his things and left his quarters at a jog.

" _No."_

An unhelpful answer even if it was a comforting one. But that comfort was ripped away a moment later.

" _At least not really. I think it's the damn drugs they gave me while I was unconscious…I feel like my brain is moving through sludge."_

Phil flashed his ID at the motor pool agent and snatched the keys tossed his way out of the air.

"You were unconscious?" he demanded as he hit the button the key chain to unlock the car – and consequently identify _which_ one he'd been given.

" _Only briefly."_

Phil rolled his eyes and climbed into the SUV, connecting his phone to the blue tooth even as he drove out of the garage.

"You still haven't told me where you are."

" _Some emergency clinic about 20 miles north of you."_

"I need a specific place, Clint, so I know where to go."

There was a slight shuffling on the line and then Clint's voice again as he asked someone nearby what town he was in. Phil stamped down on both his irritation that Clint hadn't been paying attention to _where he was_ and also his worry that he didn't know because he'd been _unconscious_.

" _Beaver Ridge,"_ Clint informed him a moment later. Phil put it into his GPS. _"I'm willing to bet I've met most of the population during my short tenure in the clinic."_

"What were you doing 20 miles north of the base at this time of night?" Phil asked, working hard not to sound like a scolding parent.

" _You my keeper, Phil?"_

And apparently failing.

"Technically, I'm your handler…so _yes_ ," Phil shot back.

" _I'm a grown ass man, you know, I don't need a babysitter."_

"That's a debate for another time, kid," Phil replied. "What happened?" he asked.

" _Took my bike out for a drive…skidded out on some rough pavement."_

"Tell me you were at least wearing your helmet," Phil questioned immediately and winced. So much for not sounding like a scolding parent.

" _Yes_ _ **mom**_ _,"_ Clint snarked back. _"I got tired of being lectured by you and my_ _ **other**_ _two moms."_

Bryan and Wilson had allied with Phil in his quest to get Clint to exercise some medium of safety on his frequent – and often spontaneous – motorcycle trips.

"And now you know why we hounded you so much," Phil pointed out.

There was silence on the line and Phil could just _see_ Clint rolling his eyes.

But then the silence turned a little more weighted. And despite all his claims of being a 'grown ass man' Clint's next question sounded every bit the kid Phil had met all those years ago who desperately needed someone to care.

" _How far away are you?"_

Phil glanced at his GPS. He was too far, of course, for his liking. He'd have preferred instant teleportation. _Much_ too far judging by the tone of Clint's voice.

"Not far," he promised. Then softer, "Are you okay?"

" _I'm fine…my bike is another story. And we'll need to arrange a funeral for my favorite pair of jeans."_

"Clint," Phil pressed calmly, letting just the right amount of his concern bleed through.

" _I was carrying, Phil, two kinds of weapons. The sheriff has me cuffed to the bed and they hit me with pain killers while I was out."_

Forcibly restrained with weakened defenses and undisclosed injuries. Not a good combination.

"Stay calm and cooperative," he coached. "I'll be there soon."

He pressed the accelerator to the floor.

* * *

Clint absently swung the one leg he had hanging off the side of the bed as he carefully and meticulously crumbled bits of paper into small balls. Without looking up, he used his fingers to flick a ball of paper across the room.

The annoyed sigh that resulted drew a smirk to Clint's lips.

"I thought I took all the paper from you?" Sheriff Arnold grumbled.

"I'm resourceful." Clint glanced up with the most innocent, wide eyed expression he could manage. "I didn't hit you, did I?"

The sheriff's mustache twitched as he frowned and one bushy eyebrow arched.

"I think you _know_ you didn't. I also think you know you've hit the exact same spot on the wall right next to my head _every single time_."

Clint smiled innocently. Now that the painkillers were starting to wear off his head was feeling clearer.

That smile slid away when the sheriff reached for Clint's confiscated knife where it sat on the empty chair next to him. His gun lay harmlessly next to it, clip ejected and barrel cleared. Arnold stared at the smooth, lethally sharpened steel. Clint let his own gaze slide across the familiar weapon too.

It really was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. The blade wasn't overly long, but it was wide. The sharp side was curved elegantly, widening the blade even more before narrowing up to a point. The handle, hand carved out of white bone, was smooth from years of use but still bore carefully carved etching.

Clint loved that knife, but not just for the way it looked.

Phil had given him that blade.

"What are you doing with a knife like this?" Arnold asked as he eyed the weapon warily.

Clint shrugged.

"I like to whittle."

That earned him a glare.

"I find it cathartic," Clint went on easily. "You should try it."

"Don't people usually whittle with smaller, more manageable blades?" Arnold challenged doubtfully.

Clint blinked innocently.

"The manageability of a blade is all in the hands of the wielder don't you think?" he replied cheerfully. "Besides, I whittle really big things."

Arnold stared at him, frowning deeply.

Clint added a charming smile to his wide eyed look of innocence.

Before the sheriff could reply, the swinging door to the room Clint had been sequestered to – until it could be determined if he was a danger apparently – swung open and Phil all but stormed in. He had a distinct air of pissed off authority in his posture and Clint couldn't help but smirk when Arnold immediately stood, spine stiffening.

Phil gave Clint a long once over and then, when he apparently determined Clint was not going to keel over, turned his attention to Arnold.

"Phil Coulson," he introduced himself smoothly. "Is he under arrest?"

"Well, no, not yet," Arnold admitted.

"Has he committed a crime?" Phil pressed.

"Not recently," Clint put in with a smug grin. Phil shot him a 'shut the hell up' glare that just made Clint smile wider.

"He was carrying a gun without a permit," Arnold pointed out.

Phil slid a slow glare in Clint's direction and he couldn't help but shrug sheepishly.

"I forgot my wallet."

Phil glared for an extra moment and then looked back at Arnold.

"He's got a permit," he assured.

Arnold crossed his arms – remembered at the last moment that he was still holding Clint's knife and quickly put it down on the chair – and puffed out his chest.

"Am I just supposed to take your word on that?"

Phil's own shoulders squared further and he straightened to his full height.

Clint looked back and forth between them, wishing absently for popcorn.

A moment later Phil was flashing a badge and ID.

"That should be enough to convince you," Phil assured. Then he looked at Clint. "Why are you still handcuffed?"

Clint huffed.

"You told me to cooperate."

"Get them off. We're leaving. I already called Dan and told him to expect you."

Clint scowled and manipulated the paperclip he'd stolen off his chart an hour ago, working dutifully on the handcuffs as he replied.

"I'm _fine_."

"We both know I'm way past taking _your_ word on _that_ ," Phil shot back.

"Now wait a minute," Arnold spoke up. "I'm not uncuffing anybody until I get some answers."

Clint unlocked the handcuffs with a decisive 'click' and shook his wrist free of the metal.

"How did you…" Arnold blinked at him in shock.

"Honestly, I've unlocked and relocked them like six times already just to pass the time," Clint admitted as he hopped off the bed. He moved gingerly to retrieve his weapons, leather jacket, and helmet as Phil glared Arnold into submissive silence.

"How bad is it?" Phil asked, eyeing the stiffness in Clint's gait warily.

"I've got road rash from my ankle to my ass on the right side, but it's not as bad as that time in Edinburgh. My jacket saved my back and the helmet saved my head…mostly."

"You can't just…" Arnold tried again as Clint slid the knife back into the sheath and stowed it in the back of his borrowed scrub pants. He reached for his gun next.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Phil interrupted imperiously. "Your country thanks you."

"My country? What…"

Phil snatched Clint's chart off the end of the bed and hustled him towards the door.

"Have a nice night, Sheriff," Phil offered, shoving Clint out the door when he tried to add his own farewell.

"What? I was just going to…"

"I know exactly what you were going to do," Phil cut him off. "The situation didn't need your type of humor."

"I've never seen you railroad a local like that, Phil," Clint pointed out as they made a quick path towards the exit. "What happened to diplomacy?"

"You didn't give me much choice. You were carrying without your permit _or_ your ID apparently. It was either railroad him or leave you here to go _get_ those things." A quick scan of Clint's chart showed it to be a non-threat – he'd been checked in as a John Doe – and Phil tossed it in the trash on their way out the door.

"What about my bike?" Clint asked.

"I called Todd, he's sending someone to get it," Phil assured.

He opened the passenger door for Clint and waited to shut it for him too.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," Clint groused once Phil had climbed into the driver's side.

"No, just an idiot apparently. Forgot your wallet, Clint, really?"

"It wasn't like I was _planning_ on wrecking my bike and bringing Johnny law down on my ass."

Phil shot him a side long look.

"What happened anyway? You've never even come close to wrecking on that thing."

Clint shifted in his seat, grimacing sheepishly and mumbled his response.

Phil glanced at him again.

"What was that?"

"I said there was a _cow_ in the road."

"You wrecked your bike because of a cow?"

"It was a big cow."

"How fast were you going?"

"Jesus, Phil…what are you my mother?" Clint sighed and rested his head back on the headrest dramatically.

There was a beat of silence and then Phil spoke again, a teasing note to his voice.

"Well at least this will teach you to wear a helmet."

* * *

 _there you go! hope you enjoyed it :D_


End file.
